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AUTHOR: 


HORACE 


TITLE: 


HORACE:  QUINTUS 

HORATIUS  FLACCUS 

PLACE* 

WOODSTOCK,  VT. 

DA  TE : 

1908 


COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARIES 
PRESERVATION  DEPARTMENT 


Master  Negative  # 


BIBLIOGRAPHIC  MICROFORM  TARGET 


Original  Material  as  Filmed  -  Existing  Bibliographic  Record 


87HJ 

I 


^»s 


Works .  Eng . 

Horatius  Flaccus,  Quintus. 

Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus  ...  the 
Roman  poet  presented  to  modern  readers;  ed.  by 
Charles  Loomis  Dana  and  John  Cotton  Dana. 
Woodstock,  Vt.,  The  Kim  tree  press,  1908, 

liv,  150  p.  front.,  plates,  ports.,  map. 
^SgCm. 

*'0f  this  book  there  have  been  printed  for 
Charles  Loomis  Dana  anc]  John  Cotton  Dana  five 
hundred  copies,  at  the  Kim  tree  press,  iVood- 

stock,  Verrront,  in  March,  nineteen  hundred  and 
eirht.  No.  ?91." 


Restrictions  on  Use: 


FILM     SIZE: 35   /vy-KV^ 

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DATE     FILMED:  ^^  3 


FILMED  BY:    RESEARCH  PUBLICATI 


TECHNICAL  MICROFORM  DATA 

REDUCTION     RATIO: L/.X 


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c 


Association  for  Information  and  Image  IManagement 

1100  Wayne  Avenue,  Suite  1100 
Silver  Spring,  Maryland  20910 

301/587-8202 


Centimeter 

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MflNUFfiCTURED   TO   fillM   STflNDflRDS 
BY   RPPLIED   IMRGE,     INC. 


INDEX 


THE  ODES.  BOOK  I 

Ode  No.     I  Page    59     Ode  No. 

3  61 

3  63 

4  105 

5  91 

6  63 

7  107 

8  92 

8  93 

9  109 
9  111 

11  95 

11  96 

14  65 

17  66 


18 

Page  1 1 2 

22 

67 

23 

94 

23 

,94 

24 

68 

25 

97 

27 

113 

27 

114 

30 

98 

31 

70 

32 

71 

34 

72 

38 

74 

38 

74 

Ode  No. 


2 

3 

7 

10 


Ode  No.  1 
1 
2 


THE  ODES.  BOOK  II 

Page     35  Ode  No.    14 

33  16 

75  17 

37  18 

THE  ODES.  BOOK  III 

Page    43     Ode  No.     3 

46  3 

3  4 


Page 


Page 


39 
41 
76 
78 


4 

8 

46 


/ 


r 


150       Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 


Ode  No.     5 

6 

9 

13 

13 

18 


Page  8 
II 
98 
80 
81 
82 


Ode  No.  19 
24 
25 
29 
30 


Ode  No.      2 

3 
4 


THE  ODES.  BOOK  IV 

Page     1 5      Ode  No.      7 

84  II 

18 


THE  SECULAR  HYMN 


Epode  No.    2 

2 
13 


Satire  No.  9 


Satire  No.  3 


THE  EPODES 

Page  1 20     Epode  No.  1 4 

122  16 

125 

SATIRES.  BOOK  I 
Page   141 

SATIRES,  BOOK  II 

Page  133     Satire  No.  6 


Page  1  1 5 

13 

117 

50 

83 


Page     1  1 8 

100 


Page    25 


Page    86 
23 


Page  1  34 


EPISTLES.  BOOK  1 

Epistle  No.     7         Page  137     Epistle  No.  10         Page  147 

7  140 

EPISTLES.  BOOK  II 

Epistle  No.    2         Page  1  3 1      Epistle  No.  2  Page  I  32 


jr-  <(\ 


'     .•/. 


II 


< 


Horace  :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 


"Crescam  laude  recens 


>> 


The  Roman  Poet  Presented 
to  Modern  Readers 


Edited  by 
Charles  Loomis  Dana  and  John  Cotton  Dana 


PORTRAIT  OF  HORACE 
From   a   Painting   in   Vf.nosa 


The  Elm  Tree  Press,  Woodstock,  Vt. 

1908 


t  !        ■ 


\ 


PORTRAIT  OF  HORACE 
From  a  Painting  in  Venosa 


Horace  :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

"Crescam  laude  recens" 

The  Roman  Poet  Presented 
to  Modern  Readers 


Edited  by 
Charles  Loomis  Dana  and  John  Cotton  Dana 


The  Elm  Tree  Press,  Woodstock,  Vt. 

1908 


Copyright,  The  Elm  Tree  Press,  1 908 
Published  March  25,  1908 


CONTENTS 


U 


^  I 


Of  this  book  there  have  been  printed  for  Charles  Loomis 
Dana  and  John  Cotton  Dana  five  hundred  copies,  at 
The  Elm  Tree  Press,  Woodstock,  Vermont,  in  March, 
nineteen  hundred  and  eight. 

No.^'^i- 


X' 

cop.   ^ 


INTRODUCTION 

POEM,  "TOQ.H.F." 

THE  LIFE  OF  HORACE 

THE  EDUCATION  OF  HORACE  AS 

DESCRIBED  BY  HIMSELF 
HORACE'S  MISTRESSES.  SO-CALLED 
HORACE'S  FRIENDS 
HORACE'S  DEITIES 
THE  GEOGRAPHY  OF  HORACE 
THE  ADMONITIONS  OF   HORACE. 

A  MOSAIC  OF  HIS  SAYINGS 
POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM 

To  his  Friends :  Urging  the  Roman  Youth  to  Virtue 

Ode  III.  2   DeVere 
The  Speech  of  Juno  Ode  III.  3   DeVere 

Part  of    the  same,  another  Version 

Ode  III.  3   Byron 
To  Augustus  Ode  III,  5   DeVere 

To  the  Romans  Ode  III.  6  DeVere 

Against  the  Turbulence  and  Degeneracy  of  the  People 

Ode  III,  24   DeVere 
To  Julus  Antonius :  In  Praise  of  Pindar 

Ode  IV.  2   DeVere 
In  Praise  of  Drusus.  Step-son  of  Augustus 

Ode  IV.  4  Martin 
To  the  Roman  People :  The  Blessed  Isles 

Epode  XVI.  DeVere 

THE  SECULAR  HYMN  DeVere 


PAGE 
xi 
xix 

XX 


XXV 

xl 

xliii 

xlvi 

xlviii 

I 


3 
4 

8 
6 

11 

13 

15 

18 

23 
25 


/) 


I  n 


h 


\ 


vi  Horace :  Quintus  Horaiius  Flaccus 

MORALITIES,  Poems  somewhat  Philosophical  and  Ethical 
To  Dellius  Ode  II,  3  DeVere  and  Dryden     33 

To  Sallust  Ode  II,  2  Ordronaux  35 

To  Licinius  Murena  Ode  II,  10  Cowper  37 

To  Postumus  Ode  II,  1 4  DeVere  39 

To  Grosphus  Ode  II,  16  Cowper  4 1 

To  Asinius  Pollio  Ode  III,  I    DeVere  43 

Passages  from  the  Same,  another  Version 

Ode  III,  1    Cowley  46 

To  Calliope  Ode  III,  4  DeVere  46 

To  Maecenas  Ode  III.  29   Dryden  50 

POEMS  MAINLY  PERSONAL 

To  Maecenas  Ode  I,  1    H.  C.  M.  59 

To  Virgil's  Ship  Ode  I,  3  DeVere  61 

Passages  from  the  Same,  another  Version 

Ode  I,  3   Dryden  63 

Ode  I,  6  Wakefield  63 

Ode  I,  1 4  R.  M.  Field  65 

Ode  I,  1  7  DeVere  66 

Ode  I,  22   Martin  67 

Ode  I,  24  Ordronaux  68 


Contents 


vu 


To  Agrippa 
To  His  Ship 
Invitation  to  Tyndaris 
To  Aristius  Fuscus 
To  Virgil 


To  Apollo :  Horace's  Prayer 


To  His  Lyre 

To  Himself 

To  his  Valet 

The  Same,  paraphrased 

To  Pompeius  Varus 

To  Maecenas 

To  a  Miser 


Ode  I,  3  I    DeVere 
Ode  I,  32   Yardley 
Ode  1,  34   Mahoney 
Ode  1,  38  Coleridge 
Ode  1.  38  Thackeray 
Ode  II,  7  Clark 
Ode  II,  I  7   Martin 
Ode  II.  1 8  DeVere 


To  the  Fountain  of  Bandusia  Ode  III,  13  Dobson 

The  Same,  another  Version    Ode  III,  1  3  E.  Field 

To  Faunus  Ode  III,  1 8  Clark 

Horace's  Apostrophe  to  his  own  Fame 

Ode  III.  30  Ordronaux 


70 

71 

72 
74 
74 
75 
76 
78 
80 
61 
82 

83 


To  Melpomene                       Ode  IV,  3  Smart  84 

To  Maecenas                           Epode  XIV,  Way  86 

LOVE  SONGS  AND  ODES  TO  HIS  MISTRESSES 

To  Pynha                                Ode  I.  5   DeVere  9 1 

To  Lydia                                Ode  I,  8  Anon  92 

The  Same,  another  Version  Ode  1,  8   Martin  93 

To  Chloe                                   Ode  I,  23   Dobson  94 
The  Same,  Paraphrase,  after  Chaucer 

Ode  I,  23   E.  Field  94 

To  Leuconoe                           Ode  I,  I  I    Dobson  95 

The  Same,  another  Version  Ode  I,  I  I    Anon  96 

Horace  upbraids  Lydia          Ode  I,  25  Martin  97 

To  Venus,  Queen  of  Cnidos  Ode  I,  30  Conington  98 

Reconciliation  with  Lydia      Ode  III,  9   Roscommon  98 

To  Phyllis  Ode  IV.  I  1  Clark  1 00 
INVOCATIONS  TO  BACCHUS  AND  SONGS  OF 
THE  COUNTRY  AND  THE  SEASONS. 

To  Lucius  Sestius                   Ode  I,  4  R.  M.  Field  1 05 

To  M.  Plancus                       Ode  I,  7  Mahoney  107 

To  Thaliarchus                       Ode  I,  9  Congreve  1 09 

The  Same,  another  Version  Ode  I.  9  H.  C.  M.  Ill 

To  Varus                                   Ode  I.  1 8   Mahoney  1  1 2 
To  His  Companions ;  The  Carousal 

Ode  I.  27  E.  Field  113 

The  Same,  another  Version  Ode  I,  27   DeVere  1  14 

To  Telephus;  Drinking  Song  Ode  III,  19  Clark  1  15 

To  Bacchus                             Ode  III.  25   DeVere  117 

To  Torquatus                          Ode  IV,  7  S.  Johnson  1  1 8 
Alphius,  a  City  Broker,  praises  a  Country  Life 

Epode  II,  Hawkins  1 20 

The  Same,  another  Version  Epode  II,  Way  1 22 
To  His  Friends ;  A  Drinking  Song 

Epode  XIII,  Martin  125 
HORACE'S  STORIES 

Horace's  stories :     Note  1 3 1 


vui  Horace :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

The  Paranoiac  Who  did  not  Wish  to  be  Cured 

Epist.  II,  2   Davidson  1  3 1 

The  Soldier  who  was  Brave  only  when  he  was  Poor 

Epist.  II,  2   Davidson  1  32 

The  Sick  Miser  and  the  Faithful  Physician 

Sat.  II.  3  Creech  133 

The  Country  Mouse  and  the  City  Mouse 

Sat.  II,  6  Martin  I  34 

Philip  the  Rich  Lawyer  and  Vulteius  the  Poor 

Auctioneer  Epist.  I,  7  Martin  137 

The  Lean  Field  Mouse  Epist.  I,  7   Martin  1 40 

Horace  and  the  Bore  Sat.  I,  9   Howes  1 4  I 

The  Stag  and  the  Horse        Epist.  I,  10  Martin  147 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Head  of  Horace,  from  statue  in  Venosa 

Head  of  Horace,  from  antique  gem 

Portrait  of  Horace 

Portrait  of  Horace  by  Raphael 

Piazza  Orazio  in  Venosa 

Venosa 

Birthplace  of  Horace 

The  Dinner  of  Nasidienus 

Statue  of  Antonius  Musa 

Horace  and  His  Friends 

Map  of  Italy  in  time  of  Augustus 

Horace's  World 

The  Oculist 

Augustus 

Time  Alters  All  Things 

Virtue 

Excess 

The  Dropsy 

Mount  Vulture 

Maecenas 

Statue  of  Horace 

Pallida  Mors 

The  Circling  Hour 

Beatus  ille 

The  Faithful  Physician 

The  Sacred  Way 

Map  of  the  Sacred  Way 


Outside  front  cover 

Bookplotc 

Frontispiece 

Facing  page      xi 

xviii 
XX 

xxii 

xxiv 

xliv 

xlviii 

xlix 

lii 

8 

12 

14 

32 

36 

46 

58 

72 

106 

118 

124 

132 

142 

146 


I 


I 


PORTRAIT  OF  HORACE  BY  RAPHAEL 
Detail   from  the   Parnassus 


INTRODUCTION 

It  may  seem  that  the  last  word  has  been  said  about  Horace ; 
that  criticisms,  appreciations  and  translations  have  been  issued 
until  the  capacity  to  interpret  the  poet  in  any  new  way  is  ex- 
hausted. We  have  ventured,  however,  to  assume  that  this  is 
not  the  case.  For,  after  all,  books  about  Horace  and  editions 
of  his  works  have  been  largely  for  school-boys  or  the  learned. 
The  collected  and  selected  translations  are  in  great  part  of 
ancient  date ;  while  the  best  translations  of  Horace  have  been 
made  in  quite  recent  years.  But  aside  from  this,  we  are  trying 
to  present  the  Latin  poet  in  a  somewhat  different  manner  from 
that  which  has  heretofore  been  followed. 

Most  of  the  translations  of  Horace  contain  only  his  Odes, 
whereas  his  most  human  and  interesting  work  is  in  his  Epistles 
and  Satires ;  and  we  have  drawn  quite  largely  upon  this  portion 
of  his  writings.  The  translations  of  the  Odes  have  usually  been 
complete,  that  is  to  say,  they  have  included  every  poem.  This 
is  very  proper ;  but  the  resulting  books  do  not  make  attractive 
reading  and  not  always  good  literature  ;  for  some  of  Horace's 
Odes  are  on  trivial  themes,  or  concern  men  and  things  that  do 
not  in  the  least  interest  us  now.  Their  merit  lies  entirely  in  their 
form,  in  the  author's  art ;  to  transfer  this  form  to  another  lan- 
guage is  quite  impossible.  We  have  selected,  therefore,  only 
about  half  of  the  Odes,  and  have  tried  to  choose  those  which 
are  on  themes  of  general  interest,  or  which  show  especially 
Horace's  fine  poetic  skill,  his  descriptive  power,  his  poetic  fervor, 
his  endless  ingenuity  in  presenting  his  philosophy  of  life.  We 
add.  also,  some  of  the  songs  to  Venus  and  to  certain  fair  young 
women  of  Rome. 

It  is  not  easv  to  find  pleasure  in   Horace  without   knowing 


1 


i 


"i 


PORTRAIT  OF  HORACE  BY  RAPHAEL 
Detail  from  the  Parnassus 


INTRODUCTION 

It  may  seem  that  the  last  word  has  been  said  about  Horace ; 
that  criticisms,  appreciations  and  translations  have  been  issued 
until  the  capacity  to  interpret  the  poet  in  any  new  way  is  ex- 
hausted. We  have  ventured,  however,  to  assume  that  this  is 
not  the  case.  For,  after  all,  books  about  Horace  and  editions 
of  his  works  have  been  largely  for  school-boys  or  the  learned. 
The  collected  and  selected  translations  are  in  great  part  of 
ancient  date ;  while  the  best  translations  of  Horace  have  been 
made  in  quite  recent  years.  But  aside  from  this,  we  are  trying 
to  present  the  Latin  poet  in  a  somewhat  different  manner  from 
that  which  has  heretofore  been  followed. 

Most  of  the  translations  of  Horace  contain  only  his  Odes, 
whereas  his  most  human  and  interesting  work  is  in  his  Epistles 
and  Satires ;  and  we  have  drawn  quite  largely  upon  this  portion 
of  his  writings.  The  translations  of  the  Odes  have  usually  been 
complete,  that  is  to  say,  they  have  included  every  poem.  This 
is  very  proper ;  but  the  resulting  books  do  not  make  attractive 
reading  and  not  always  good  literature ;  for  some  of  Horace's 
Odes  are  on  trivial  themes,  or  concern  men  and  things  that  do 
not  in  the  least  interest  us  now.  Their  merit  lies  entirely  in  their 
form,  in  the  author's  art ;  to  transfer  this  form  to  another  lan- 
guage is  quite  impossible.  We  have  selected,  therefore,  only 
about  half  of  the  Odes,  and  have  tried  to  choose  those  which 
are  on  themes  of  general  interest,  or  which  show  especially 
Horace's  fine  poetic  skill,  his  descriptive  power,  his  poetic  fervor, 
his  endless  ingenuity  in  presenting  his  philosophy  of  life.  We 
add,  also,  some  of  the  songs  to  Venus  and  to  certain  fair  young 
women  of  Rome. 

It  is  not  easy  to  find  pleasure  in  Horace  without  knowins; 


xU  Horace :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

something  of  his  times,  his  mode  of  life,  his  friends,  his  love 
affairs  and  even  of  his  religion. 

Horace  wrote  poetry  during  a  period  of  over  thirty  years, 
from  the  time  he  was  twenty-three  until  his  death  at  fifty-seven  ; 
(B.  C.  42  to  B.  C.  8).  He  spent  most  of  his  life,  it  is  true, 
very  quietly  at  Rome  or  in  the  country  near  by.  But  for  Rome 
herself  these  were  stirring  times.  And  he  wrote  poetry  mainly 
upon  occasions ;  as  called  for  by  some  slight  event  in  his  personal 
career  or  some  more  important  event  in  the  history  of  his  country. 
He  wrote  to  celebrate  victories ;  to  stir  his  countrymen  to  higher 
ideals ;  to  praise  his  emperor  and  patrons ;  to  advise  and  cheer 
his  friends ;  to  invite,  extol  or  reproach  his  so-called  mistresses. 
If  one  does  not  know  something  of  these  occasions  and  of  the 
persons  he  refers  to,  many  of  the  poems  affect  one  but  little 
more  than  does  a  sum  in  arithmetic. 

One  can  take  the  very  best  translations  of  the  Odes,  Mar- 
tin's or  Conington's  for  example,  or  the  best  collection  of  trans- 
lations, and  can  read  them  through  with  but  little  feeling,  simply 
because  there  is  no  atmosphere  furnished  for  them.  They  stand 
out  against  no  background  of  knowledge.  The  most  important 
of  emotional  elements,  recognition,  is  entirely  lacking  if  one  reads 
them  without  knowing  Roman  life  in  Horace's  day.  We  have 
tried  to  furnish  a  little  of  this  atmosphere. 

In  some  eighteenth  century  translations  of  Horace,  those  by 
Francis  and  Davidson  for  example,  this  same  plan  was  attempted. 
Each  Ode  was  introduced  by  a  rather  pompous  description  of 
its  merits ;  was  followed  by  an  analysis  of  the  story,  and  sur- 
rounded by  ample  margins  of  notes  and  discussions.  Davidson  s 
translation,  published  in  I  7 1  I ,  "for  the  use  of  students  and  gen- 
tlemen," is  particularly  interesting  as  a  type  of  the  eighteenth 
century  method  of  presenting  Horace.  It  is,  indeed,  so  naive 
that  we  have  prefixed  parts  of  his  comments  to  a  few  of  the 
Odes.  Later  translators  have  also  done  a  little  of  this  work ; 
but  most  editions  of  Horace  are  accompanied  with  a  repellent 
mass  of  grammatical  and  technical  criticism. 


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Xll 


Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 


something  of  his  limes,  his  mode  of  life,  his  friends,  his  love 
affairs  and  even  of  his  religion. 

Horace  wrote  poetry  during  a  period  of  over  thirty  years, 
from  the  time  he  was  twenty-three  until  his  death  at  fifty-seven  ; 
(B.  C.  42  to  B.  C.  8).  He  spent  most  of  his  life,  it  is  true, 
very  quietly  at  Rome  or  in  the  country  near  by.  But  for  Rome 
herself  these  were  stirring  times.  And  he  wrote  poetry  mainly 
upon  occasions ;  as  called  for  by  some  slight  event  in  his  personal 
career  or  some  more  important  event  in  the  history  of  his  country. 
He  wrote  to  celebrate  victories ;  to  stir  his  countrymen  to  higher 
ideals ;  to  praise  his  emperor  and  patrons ;  to  advise  and  cheer 
his  friends ;  to  invite,  extol  or  reproach  his  so-called  mistresses. 
If  one  does  not  know  something  of  these  occasions  and  of  the 
persons  he  refers  to,  many  of  the  poems  affect  one  but  little 
more  than  does  a  sum  in  arithmetic. 

One  can  take  the  very  best  translations  of  the  Odes,  Mar- 
tin's or  Conington's  for  example,  or  the  best  collection  of  trans- 
lations, and  can  read  them  through  with  but  little  feeling,  simply 
because  there  is  no  atmosphere  furnished  for  them.  They  stand 
out  against  no  background  of  knowledge.  The  most  important 
of  emotional  elements,  recognition,  is  entirely  lacking  if  one  reads 
them  without  knowing  Roman  life  in  Horace's  day.  We  have 
tried  to  furnish  a  little  of  this  atmosphere. 

In  some  eighteenth  century  translations  of  Horace,  those  by 
Francis  and  Davidson  for  example,  this  same  plan  was  attempted. 
Each  Ode  was  introduced  by  a  rather  pompous  description  of 
its  merits ;  was  followed  by  an  analysis  of  the  story,  and  sur- 
rounded by  ample  margins  of  notes  and  discussions.  Davidson  s 
translation,  published  in  1  7 1  1 ,  "for  the  use  of  students  and  gen- 
tlemen," is  particularly  interesting  as  a  type  of  the  eighteenth 
century  method  of  presenting  Horace.  It  is,  indeed,  so  naive 
that  we  have  prefixed  parts  of  his  comments  to  a  few  of  the 
Odes.  Later  translators  have  also  done  a  little  of  this  work ; 
but  most  editions  of  Horace  are  accompanied  with  a  repellent 
mass  of  grammatical  and  technical  criticism. 


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Introduction 


xui 


We  must  leave  our  readers  to  judge  whether  we  have  suc- 
ceeded in  helping  to  make  them  receptive  to  Horace's  lyrics. 

We  have  a  very  firm  conviction  that  no  one  man  can  translate 
all  of  Horace  effectively.  Each  poem  requires  special  study  and 
a  peculiar  inspiration  to  give  to  its  English  rendering  any  of  the  art 
and  spirit  of  the  original.  For  the  average  reader,  therefore, 
for  one,  that  is,  who  is  looking  chiefly  for  the  pleasure  of  poetry, 
a  collection  of  translations  by  different  writers  is  the  best.  One 
also  gets  in  this  way  a  touch  of  the  genius  of  many  of  the  best 
English  poets,  for  a  large  number  of  them  have  tried  their  skill 
on  Horace. 

Most  of  the  older  translations  were  stilted  and  lifeless  or  even 
silly.  The  collections  of  Brome  and  Hawkins  and  Francis  con- 
tain very  little  poetry.  The  only  successful  translators  among 
the  earlier  men  were  Milton,  Cowley,  Dryden  and  Jonson,  and 
later  Cowper,  who  translated,  however,  but  few  pieces.  Cow- 
ley and  Dryden  turned  Horace  into  good  seventeenth  century 
poetry;  but  their  versions  have  little  of  the  Roman  flavor. 
Casual  efforts  have  been  made  by  such  men  as  Barry  Cornwall, 
Allan  Ramsay,  Addison,  Pof>e,  Samuel  Johnson  and  Byron ; 
but  none  was  often  successful. 

The  best  translations  have  been  made  within  the  last  half 
century,  and,  with  due  respect  to  such  others  as  Howes,  Con- 
ington  and  Clark,  we  place  DeVere  and  Theodore  Martin 
among  the  first.  Indeed,  a  very  satisfactory  English  version  of 
all  of  Horace  could  be  made  from  Martin  and  De  Vere,  a  few 
casual  writers,  and  a  few  of  the  earlier  English  poets. 

It  is  rather  strange  that  America  has  contributed  so  little  to 
the  translation  or  appreciation  of  our  poet.  Dr.  John  Ordronaux 
has  been  by  far  the  most  successful,  but  his  published  work  is 
small.  We  do  not  forget  the  ingenious  and  painstaking  con- 
tributions of  Clarence  Cary  or  that  of  Mr.  Sargent,  or  the 
"  Echoes  from  the  Sabine  Farm "  by  the  two  Fields.  In  the 
eighteenth  century  translations  without  much  merit  were  made 
by  John  Park  and  Rev.  John  Adams.     Aside  from  these,  the 


xiv  Horace :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

work  of  American  translators  has  been  little  more  than  casual. 
While  the  Satires  and  Letters  are  the  more  humorous  and 
interesting  documents  of  Horace,  much  of  them  cannot  be  un- 
derstood without  considerable  knowledge  of  the  times  when 
they  were  written.  We  have  taken  only  those  parts,  and  they 
are  not  few,  which  contain  accounts  of  Horace  and  his 
affairs,  and  we  have  for  the  first  time  made  a  collection  of  his 

stories. 

The  Poems  selected  have  been  arranged  in  six  groups.  The 
first  includes  Poems  of  Patriotism  and  of  Praises  of  his  Emperor ; 
the  second,  Poems  which  may  be  called  Moralities,  as  they  por- 
tray his  philosophy  and  his  views  on  the  conduct  of  life ;  the 
the  third.  Poems  largely  Personal,  including  incidents  in  the 
Poet's  life  and  that  of  his  friends,  the  celebration  of  his  own 
fame,  his  praise  of  the  Muses  and  of  his  Lyre ;  the  fourth.  Love 
Songs  and  Odes  to  his  Mistresses;  the  fifth.  Invocations  to 
Bacchus  and  kindred  poems ;  the  sixth.  Stories. 

No  attempt  is  made  here  to  give  an  exposition  of  the  genius 
of  Horace ;  and  we  do  not  profess  erudition  in  Latin  or  in  the 
technicalities  of  verse.  Competent  appreciations  of  the  charac- 
ter and  work  of  Horace  are  numerous  and  accessible,  and  Mar- 
tin is  his  greatest  prophet.  It  is  desirable,  however,  to  empha- 
size the  point  that  besides  his  lighter  qualities  Horace  had  a 
seriousness  of  purpose  and  a  moral  earnestness  which,  when  he 
allowed  them  really  to  stir  his  poetic  genius,  caused  him  to  write 
his  noblest  and  most  moving  pieces.  He  was  not  simply  a 
finished  writer  of  songs ;  he  believed  in  his  art  and  thought  he 
was  a  consecrated  Priest  of  the  Muses.  He  wrote  sometimes 
in  a  vein  of  eloquence  and  sublimity,  and  produced  at  least 
half  a  dozen  Odes  which  ought  to  be  classed  among  the 
finest  pieces  of  antiquity.  This  view,  that  Horace's  real  genius 
lay  in  his  longer  and  more  serious  pieces,  is  reluctantly  admitted 
by  Macleane  and  is  particularly  emphasized  by  De  Vere.  Few 
can  read  the  Latin  well  enough  to  appreciate  this  phase  of  the 
poet,  and  unfortunately  no  translator  until  very  recently  appeared 


Introduction 


XV 


V. 


^W 


who  would  make  it  clear  to  the  English  reader,  though  Dryden, 
Roscommon,  Martin  and  a  few  others  gave  some  glimpses  of  it. 
It  is  our  conviction  that  a  translator  has  appeared,  however,  who 
has  done  for  Horace  almost  what  Fitzgerald  did  for  Omar 
Khayyam.  He  has  taken  the  great  Odes  of  the  third  book  and 
put  them  into  English  poetry  which  is  lofty,  eloquent  and  inspir- 
ing. He  has  either  caught  the  real  Horatian  fire  or  has  from 
Horace's  torch  kindled  as  great  a  one  in  his  own  breetst.  This 
translator,  whose  work  we  believe  has  not  been  justly  appre- 
ciated, is  the  late  Sir  Stephen  De  Vere.  Milton,  Dryden,  and 
Cowper  did  minor  poems  well;  but  DeVere  took  Horace's 
really  great  poems  and  gave  of  them  noble  English  versions, 
versions  which  one  can  appreciate  though  one  has  little  knowl- 
edge of  their  setting.  We  would  claim  the  merit  in  this  work 
of  bringing  the  attention  of  the  public  to  the  striking  poetic  tal- 
ent of  De  Vere.  It  should  put  him  with  Horace  among  the 
poets  of  all  time.     Of  him  it  can  be  said, 

*'Dis  amicum, 
Reddidi  carmen,  docilis  modorum 
Vatis  Horati.** 

Expert  in  the  measure  of  the  poet  Horace, 
'  He  has  sung  a  song  pleasing  to  the  gods. 

A  feature  of  Horace's  talent  which  has  been  emphasized  by 
De  Vere  is  his  descriptive  skill.  No  poem  shows  this  perhaps 
as  well  as  his  famous  "  Beatus  ille  ",  Epode  II,  one  of  the  few 
Odes  easy  to  read  and  appreciate  in  the  original.  A  descrip- 
tive passage,  in  Ode  II,  3,  has  proved  to  some  that  Horace  was 
a  real  poet : 

"  Where  the  high  pine,  and  poplar  silver-lined 
With  branches  interlaced  have  made 
A  hospitable  shade,  ^ 
And  where  by  curving  bank  and  hollow  bay 
The  tremulous  waters  work  their  silent  way." 

—DeVere. 


^Illf 


r" 


xvi  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Of  Horace's  most  famous  characteristic,  his  "felicitas  curi- 
osa, "  his  power  to  fit  the  aptest  words  to  things,  there  is  no  need 
to  speak.  Many  of  his  sayings  have  become  parts  of  everyday 
speech.  We  have  appended  to  the  translations  some  of  the 
happy  phrases  that  occur  in  the  Latin  text.  Many  of  his  best 
things  in  this  field  are  in  the  Letters  and  Satires. 

Prof.  Conington  thinks  that  Horace's  writings  have  the  quality 
of  Eighteenth  Century  literature :  thinness  of  thought  and  ele- 
gance  of  expression.     From  this  we  dissent.     The  Roman  of 
the  time  of  Augustus  must  have  found  him  a  writer  of  sweet 
songs,  of  noble  hymns  and  of  light  and  casual  pieces,  with  an 
occasional  coarse, vindictive  note;  of  Letters  which  are  clever 
and  amusing ;  of  Satires  and  stories  which  entertained  by  their 
wit  and  wisdom  and  fine  turns  of  expression ;  and.  on  the  whole, 
a  laughing,  goodnatured,  unconventional  philosopher,  illuminat- 
ing everyday  affairs  with  the  poet's  fire,  occasionally  rising  to  a 
pitch  of  fiery  earnestness  and  eloquence.     We  do  not  know  of 
any  eighteenth  century  writer  who  at  all  approaches  him  in  these 
fields  and  we  feel  sure  that  Horace's  book  is  much  more  in 
touch  with  the  twentieth  century  spirit  than  with  that  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.     We  may  not  today  care  quite 
so  much  for  literary  form  as  they  did  in  I  750 ;  but  the  human 
quality  and  the  practical  philosophy,  the  lightness  of  touch,  the 
so-called  persiflage,  and  the  fondness  for  looking  at  the  humor- 
ous  side  of  things,  all  belong  to  Horace,  and  all  suit  the  present 
day.     Even  the  Fields  got  more  of  an  "  Echo  from  the  Sabme 
Farm "  than  did  Pope,  or  Addison,  or  the  pedants  who  con- 
tributed so  much  to  Brome  and  Roscommon. 

Conington  thinks  the  translator  of  Horace  should  first  of  all 
get  as  near  as  possible  to  his  form  of  versification.  Taking  this 
point  of  view  Conington  has  himself  made  translations  that  are 
correct  and  scholarly,  but  almost  entirely  spiritless  and  uninterest- 
ing, except  to  special  students  of  Horace  and  of  the  art  of  poetic 

construction.  •  •     i 

We  have  chosen  translations  which  have  dealt  with  the  origmal 


Introduction 


xvu 


in  all  possible  ways.  The  method  used  was,  first,  to  select  an 
Ode  that  has  some  special  merit  in  subject  or  treatment ;  then, 
to  find  a  translation  which  seems  interesting  and  vivid,  and  is.  if 
fortune  permits,  genuine  poetry.  We  have  not  disdained  to  use 
paraphrases  or  even  parodies.  Father  Prout.  Eugene  Field. 
Mr.  Way  have  made  versions  shocking  to  the  purist ;  but  surely 
Horace  would  have  liked  them.  He  could  be  flippant  himself 
at  times ;  and  he  did  not  like  pedantry.  He  was  exacting  only 
about  his  art.  We  have  tried  to  select  translations  which  have 
the  merit  of  saying  things  effectively,  of  having  some  value  even 
if  they  are  not  precisely  Roman. 

The  sketch  of  the  life  of  Horace  which  follows  is  based  on 
a  study  of  the  medical  side  of  Horace  published  in  Volume  II 
of  the  Charaka  Club.  It  naturally  therefore  lays  rather  special 
emphasis  on  the  valetudinarian  phase  of  the  poet's  personality. 

The  editors  are  indebted  to  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
for  permission  to  publish  several  translations  by  Eugene  and 
Roswell  Field  from  "Echoes  from  the  Sabine  Farm."  We  also 
must  express  our  obligations  to  Mr.  T.  Rutherford  Clark  and 
Dr.  John  Ordronaux  for  permission  to  use  some  of  their  excel- 
lent translations.  We  wish  we  could  learn  the  name  of  the 
writer  who  signs  himself  T.  H.  W.  and  give  him  credit  for  his 
most  admirable  work.  We  have  used  some  of  Conington's 
translations  and  many  of  DeVere's  with  the  permission  of 
George  Bell  &  Sons,  and  many  of  Martin's  with  the  permission 
of  Blackwood  &  Sons. 

The  illustrations  of  Venusium,  the  birthplace  of  Horace,  have 
been  furnished  us  by  a  local  artist.  Signor  Gatti.  who  is  respon- 
sible for  the  statement  that  we  have  a  photograph  of  the  house 
in  which  Horace  was  bom. 

This  concludes  our  account  of  what  we  have  tried  to  accom- 
plish in  making  this  addition  to  the  editions  of  the  Latin  poet. 

Horace  has  long  been  a  most  interesting  figure  in  literature. 
It  is  our  hope  that  we  have  so  presented  him  that  modem 
readers  can  understand  his  character  and  environment,  and  that 


xviii        Horace  :   Quinlus  Horalius  Flaccus 

this  edition  will,  even  in  this  practical  century,  prove  a  pleasant 
companion  to  many  vv^ho  are  jaded  with  the  excitements  of 
modernity.     So,  as  Horace  said  to  his  owri  book : 

"Fuge,  quo  descendere  gestis. " 

Away  with  vou  to  the  public  you  long  for. 

C.  L.  D. 

New  York,  August,   1907. 


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xviii        Horace  :   Quintus  H  or  alius  Flaccus 

this  edition  will,  even  in  tliis  practical  century,  prove  a  pleasant 
connpanion  to  many  who  are  jaded  with  the  excitements  of 
modernity.     So,  as  Horace  said  to  his  own  book : 

"Fuge,  quo  descendere  gestis." 

Away  with  vou  to  the  public  vou  long  for. 

C.  L.  13. 

New  York,  August,   1907. 


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TO 
QUINTUS  HORATIUS  FLACCUS. 


To  Q.  H.  F.  the  idle  band 

Of  Poetasters  oft  has  planned 

Tributes  of  praise,  and  penned  them,  too — 
For  love  of  verse  that  keeps  its  hue, 

Though  dead  its  language  and  its  land. 

True,  Pegasus  has  never  fanned 
The  ether  at  the  bard's  command ; 

But,  ah !  how  eagerly  he  flew 

ToQ.  H.  F! 

Not  over-sweet  or  over-grand 

Your  poems,  Horace,  hence  you  stand 

Firm  in  ihs  hearts  of  men;  and  few 
Have  gained  a  place  as  clearly  due, 
Since  death  with  unrelenting  hand 

Took  you,  H.  F. 


non. 


THE  LIFE  AND  THE  INVAIJDIS.M 

OF  HOf^ACE 


The  poet  Horace  was  born,  B.  C.  65,  at  Venusium,  a 
small  town  in  eastern  Italy  near  the  Adriatic.  The  town  still 
exists  as  the  modern  Venosa,  and  a  statue  of  Horace  adorns  its 
market  place.  The  inhabitants  point  out  with  pride  the  house 
in  which  the  poet  was  born,  and  also  show  near  by  Mt.  Vul- 
ture, on  which  he  was  lost  when  a  boy.  Tradition  relates  that, 
tired  out  from  his  wanderings,  he  fell  asleep  and  that  by  direc- 
tion of  the  Muses  the  birds  covered  him  with  leaves  and  thus 
saved  him  from  the  wild  beasts. 

Horace's  father  was  a  freedman,  an  auctioneer  by  occupa- 
tion. Being  proud  of  his  son  and  wishing  to  advance  him  in 
life  he  sent  him  to  Rome  to  school. 

At  the  age  of  twenty  Horace  went  to  Athens  for  a  university 
education.  About  this  time  Julius  Caesar  was  assassinated  and 
Horace  joined  the  army  gathered  by  Brutus  and  Cassius  to 
fight  against  the  triumvirate-friends  of  the  dead  Caesar.  The 
army  was  defeated  and  their  cause  lost  at  the  battle  of  Philippi. 

Returning  to  Rome,  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  B.  C.  43, 
Horace  began  to  write  his  Satires  and  Epodes.  He  secured  a 
clerkship  under  the  government,  gained  the  favor  of  Maecenas, 
became  a  popular  poet,  and  led  the  merry  life  of  the  time. 

When  about  thirty  Maecenas  gave  him  a  farm  in  the  Sabine 
country,  thirty  miles  from  Rome  and  about  twelve  from  Tibur, 
now  Tivoli.  He  spent  most  of  his  time  in  this  place  and  the  city, 
occasionally  going  to  the  baths  at  Baiae,  or  visiting  his  friends  in 
Praenestum,  Tarentum  and  other  suburban  towns. 

Thus  Horace  lived  uneventfully  for  about  thirty  years,  writing 


ALLEGED  BIRTHPLACE  OF  HORACE 
IN  VENOSA 


«l    'ii 


THE  LIFE  AND  THE  INVALIDISM 

OF  HORACE 


The  poet  Horace  was  born,  B.  C.  65,  at  Venusium,  a 
small  town  in  eastern  Italy  near  the  Adriatic.  The  town  still 
exists  as  the  modern  Venosa,  and  a  statue  of  Horace  adorns  its 
market  place.  The  inhabitants  point  out  with  pride  the  house 
in  which  the  poet  was  born,  and  also  show  near  by  Mt.  Vul- 
ture, on  which  he  was  lost  when  a  boy.  Tradition  relates  that, 
tired  out  from  his  wanderings,  he  fell  asleep  and  that  by  direc- 
tion of  the  Muses  the  birds  covered  him  with  leaves  and  thus 
saved  him  from  the  wild  beasts. 

Horace's  father  was  a  freedman,  an  auctioneer  by  occupa- 
tion. Being  proud  of  his  son  and  wishing  to  advance  him  in 
life  he  sent  him  to  Rome  to  school. 

At  the  age  of  twenty  Horace  went  to  Athens  for  a  university 
education.  About  this  time  Julius  Caesar  was  assassinated  and 
Horace  joined  the  army  gathered  by  Brutus  and  Cassius  to 
fight  against  the  triumvirate-friends  of  the  dead  Caesar.  The 
army  was  defeated  and  their  cause  lost  at  the  battle  of  Philippi. 

Returning  to  Rome,  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  B.  C.  43, 
Horace  began  to  write  his  Satires  and  Epodes.  He  secured  a 
clerkship  under  the  government,  gained  the  favor  of  Maecenas, 
became  a  popular  poet,  and  led  the  merry  life  of  the  time. 

When  about  thirty  Maecenas  gave  him  a  farm  in  the  Sabine 
country,  thirty  miles  from  Rome  and  about  twelve  from  Tibur, 
now  Tivoli.  He  spent  most  of  his  time  in  this  place  and  the  city, 
occasionally  going  to  the  baths  at  Baiae,  or  visiting  his  friends  in 
Praenestum,  Tarentum  and  other  suburban  towns. 

Thus  Horace  lived  uneventfully  for  about  thirty  years,  writing 


ALLEGED  BIRTHPLACE  OF  HORACE 
IN  VENOSA 


Life  and  Invalidism  of  Horace 


XXI 


. 


poetry  and  looking  after  his  friends,  his  farm  and  his  health.  As 
he  did  not  like  the  sea,  he  never  left  Italy  after  his  return  from 
the  war. 

Horace  was  short  in  stature,  and  had  a  dark  complexion,  a 
low  brow  and  black  hair.  He  was  quick  tempered,  and 
although  he  had  originally  a  good  constitution,  he  became  in 
later  life  a  confirmed  dyspeptic.  At  the  age  of  forty-five  he 
wrote  to  Maecenas  : 

But  if  you'd  have  me  always  by  your  side, 

Then  give  me  back  the  chest  deep-breathed  and  wide, 

The  low  brow  clustered  with  its  locks  of  black. 

The  flow  of  talk,  the  ready  laugh  give  back. 

The  woes  blabbed  o'er  our  wine,  when  Cinara  chose 

To  tease  me,  cruel  flirt — ah,  happy  woes ! 

Traveling  to  Brundusium  with  two  friends  they  one  day  stop- 
ped at  an  inn.  When  dinner  was  served  Horace  could  not  eat 
it  "  because  ",  as  he  says  in  his  story  of  the  journey,  "  the  water 
was  bad."  "Declaring  war  against  his  appetite",  he  sat  watch- 
ing his  companions  with  much  vexation.  He  was  so  fastidious 
in  his  taste  that  he  could  not  bear  to  have  others  like  what  he 
did  not, — a  trait  characteristic  of  persons  with  weak  stomachs 
and  sensitive  nerves. 

At  twenty-nine  he  describes  his  life  as  very  regular  and  simple. 
In  the  evening  he  takes  a  walk  about  town,  then  goes  home  to  a 
supper  of  vegetables,  leeks  and  pulse,  and  fritters.     He  goes  to 
bed  early,  and,  waking  in  the  morning,  lies  there  reading  and 
writing  till  the  fourth  hour  (10  A.  M.).     Then  he  goes  for  a 
walk  or  to  the  baths,  eats  a  light  lunch  and  returns  to  take  his 
ease  at  home.     This  simple  life  was  due  perhaps  in  part  to  his 
poverty ;  but  even  at  that  age  he  avoided  hard  exercise,  and 
when  in  his  stroll  he  is  met  by  a  friend  who  asks  how  he  is, 
gives  the  answer  of  one  not  in  buoyant  health :     "  Suavitur,  ut 
nunc  est."      (Fairly  well,  as  times  go).     Sat.  I,  9.     To  be  sure, 
he  is  having  dinners  with  the  rich  and  has  learned  what  luxuri- 
ous living  is;  has   composed  warm  lyrics  to  Lalage,   Neaera, 


XXll 


Horace :  Quinfus  Horatius  Flaccus 


Pyrrha,  Lyce  and  Phryne ;  and  has  sung  of  the  enjoyment  of 
life,— also  and  ever  of  the  folly  of  excess.  Some  idea  of  what 
might  be  served  at  such  a  Roman  banquet  as  we  may  suppose 
he  often  attended  in  these  days  is  given  by  Horace,  m  Satire 
11,  8,  where  he  describes  an  imaginary  dinner  party  given  by  a 
certain  Nasidienus,  a  man  remarkable  for  h\^  wealth,  his  osten- 
tation and  vulgarity.  We  make  from  the  poem  a  menu  and  a 
sequence  of  incidents,  somewhat  as  follows: 

MENU  OF  THE  DINNER  OF  NASIDIENUS. 

Lucanian  Boar,  served  with  Rapes,  Lettuce,  Radishes 

and  a  Sauce  of  Skirwort 

Pickled  Fish  and  the  Lees  of  Coan  Wine 

[  This  served  for  the  "  promulsis  "  or  "  a  la  Russe  "  part  of  the  banquet.     The 

table  is  now  cleared  off  and  wiped  with  expensive  purple  napkins.) 

Chian  and  Caecuban  Wine 

[  These  were  inferior  wines,  but  the  host  announces  loudly  that  the  guests  can 

have  others  if  they  wish.] 

Sea  Eel  and  Roe,  swimming  in  a  Sauce  made  of  Venafrum  Oil 

Pickled  Mackerel  Home-brewed  Wine 

Pepper  and  Vinegar 

[  At  this  stage  the  awning  falls  down   on  the  table  and  spoils  everything. 
Horace's  party  becomes  drunk  and  demands  more  wine.) 

A  mighty  Crane,  grilled,  with  Flour  and  Salt 
The  Livers  of  Geese  fattened  on  Figs 

Wings  of   Hares  Roasted  Blackbirds 

Fricasseed  Pigeon  served  without  the  rump 

Besides  this  were  cakes,  turbot,  plaice,  honey-apples  and  other  mmor 
dishes,  a  functionary,  named  Nomentanus,  being  present  to  point  out  any 
special  delicacy  that  had  been  overlooked. 

Horace's  party  becomes  too  intoxicated  to  eat  more,  and  runs  away.  As 
one  of  them  said  to  Horace  in  his  Roman  way.  he  "  had  had  the  time  of  his 
life."     "  Sic,  ut  mihi  nunquam  in  vita  fuerit  melius." 

It  was  during  his  years  thirty-five  to  forty  that  Horace  wrote 
his  best  lyrics,  finishing  the  first  three  books  when  he  was 
about  forty-one.      During  this  time  he  lived   partly  in  Rome ; 


THE  DINNER  GIVEN  BY  NASIDIENUS.     SAT.  II,  8 
From  an  Engraving  in  Francis's  Translation  of  Horace 
No.  3.    Varius  No.  7.     Nomentanus 

No.  5.     Maecenas  No.  8.     Nasidienus 


xxn 


Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 


Pyrrha,  Lyce  and  Phryne ;  and  has  sung  of  the  enjoyment  of 
life.— also  and  ever  of  the  folly  of  excess.  Some  idea  of  what 
might  be  served  at  such  a  Roman  banquet  as  we  may  suppose 
he  often  attended  in  these  days  is  given  by  Horace,  in  Satire 
II,  8,  where  he  describes  an  imaginary  dinner  party  given  by  a 
certain  Nasidienus,  a  man  remarkable  for  his  wealth,  his  osten- 
tation and  vulgarity.  We  make  from  the  poem  a  menu  and  a 
sequence  of  incidents,  somewhat  as  follows : 

MENU  OF  THE  DINNER  OF  NASIDIENUS. 

Lucanian  Boar,  served  with  Rapes,  Lettuce,  Radishes 

and  a  Sauce  of  Skirwort 

Pickled  Fish  and  the  Lees  of  Coan  Wine 

[  This  served  for  the  "  promulsis  "  or  "  a  la  Russe  "  part  of  the  banquet.     The 
table  is  now  cleared  off  and  wiped  with  expensive  purple  napkins.) 

Chian  and  Caecuban  Wine 
( These  were  inferior  wines,  but  the  host  announces  loudly  that  the  guests  can 

have  others  if  they  wish.) 

Sea  Eel  and  Roe.  swimming  in  a  Sauce  made  of  Venafrum  Oil 

Pickled  Mackerel  Home-brewed  Wine 

Pepper  and  Vinegar 

(  At  this  stage  the  awning  falls  down  on  the  table  and  spoils  everything. 
Horace's  party  becomes  drunk  and  demands  more  wine.] 

A  mighty  Crane,  grilled,  with  Flour  and  Salt 
The  Livers  of  Geese  fattened  on  Figs 

Wings  of  Hares  Roasted  Blackbirds 

Fricasseed  Pigeon  served  without  the  rump 

Besides  this  were  cakes,  turbot,  plaice,  honey-apples  and  other  mmor 
dishes,  a  functionary,  named  Nomentanus,  being  present  to  pomt  out  any 
special  delicacy  that  had  been  overlooked. 

Horace's  party  becomes  too  intoxicated  to  eat  more,  and  runs  away.  As 
one  of  them  said  to  Horace  in  his  Roman  way,  he  "  had  had  the  time  of  his 
life."     "  Sic,  ut  mihi  nunquam  in  vita  fuerit  melius." 

It  was  during  his  years  thirty-five  to  forty  that  Horace  wrote 
his  best  lyrics,  finishing  the  first  three  books  when  he  was 
about  forty-one.     During  this  time  he  lived   partly  in  Rome ; 


THE  DINNER  GIVEN  BY  NASIDIENUS.     SAT.  II,  8 
From  an  Engraving  in  Francis's  Translation  of  Horace 
No.  3.    Varius  No.  7.     Nomentanus 

No.  5.     Maecenas  No.  8.     Nasidienus 


Life  and  Invalidism  of  Horace  xxiii 

but  had  to  go  occasionally  to  Tibur,  Praeneste  and  Baiae.  He 
was  even  thus  early,  perhaps,  a  little  nervous  and  not  a  good 
sleeper.  He  says  he  cannot  sleep  if  he  does  not  write  poetry. 
He  continued  to  be  a  good-natured  man,  or  he  never  could 
have  written  that  most  humorous  of  ancient  poems.— his  ad- 
ventures with  a  bore. 

At  thirty-nine  he  was  nearly  killed  by  the  falling  of  a  tree. 
He  wrote  an  Ode.  (II.  1  3).  about  it.  and  referred  to  the  in- 
cident at  other  times.  It  is  about  this  time  that  he  says  a  short 
dinner  suits  him.  and  a  nap  afterwards;  declares  himself  no 
longer  a  votary  of  Venus ;  and  hangs  up  his  armor  on  the  walls 
of  the  temple.  Although  he  had  once  been  something  of  a  fop. 
he  now  becomes  rather  careless  in  his  dress  and  is  indifferent  to 
fine  living  and  the  charms  of  the  opposite  sex.  (Ode  I,  4). 
All  these  things  indicate  that  on  reaching  the  fifth  decade  he 
was  becoming  an  invalid. 

About  this  period,  (age  forty-two),  he  consulted  Dr.  Antonius 
Musa.     Dr.  Musa  having  cured  Augustus  by  cold  baths,  had 
set  the  vogue  for  this  kind  of  treatment,  and  they  were  pre- 
scribed even  in  winter.     The  warm,  sulphurous  waters  of  Baiae 
had   been   famous  for  removing  lingering  disorders  from  the 
nerves.     Horace  had  been  to  these  baths  of  Baiae  for  treat- 
ment.     Not  being  cured.  Musa  ordered  him  cold  baths,  and  he 
took  them  at  Clusium  and  Gabies.     But  he  found  the  country 
too  cold  and  disagreeable  in  vmter.     So  he  wrote  to  his  friend, 
Vala,  to  tell  him  about  the  baths  of  Velie  and  Salemum  in  Lu- 
cania,  near  Naples,  (Epist.  1,  15),  and  asked  what  kind  of  food 
and  drink  and  climate  he  would  find  in  these  resorts. 

The  evidence  begins  to  accumulate  that  Horace  about  this 
time  was  entering  his  climacteric  or  developing  somewhat  of  a 
"nervous  prostration".  Writing  at  the  age  of  forty-five  to  Cel- 
sus,  secretary  of  Nero,  (Epist.  I,  8),  he  says,  "  If  you  are  asked 
what  Horace  is  doing,  say  that  though  he  is  promising  to  do 
many  beautiful  things,  he  really  is  not  living  rightly  or  pleasantly, 
and  is  no  less  sick  in  mind  than  in  body";  that  he  did  not  wish 


xxiv        Horace:   Quinlus  Horatius  Flaccus 

to  hear  or  learn  of  anything  that  would  alleviate  his  illness ;  that 
he  was  offending  his  faithful  physicians  and  irritating  his  friends 
because  they  tried  to  arouse  him  from  his  fatal  lethargy,  (funes- 
to  vetemo,)  (Epist.  I,  8). 

'Fidis  offendar  meJicis,  irascar  amicis. 
Cur  me  funesto  properent  arcere  vetemo.  ** 

But  Horace,  after  all,  did  not  have  any  very  serious  break- 
down, for  he  not  only  worked  every  year,  but  wrote  some  of 
his  best  poetry,  the  Carmen  Seculare  for  example,  when  he  was 
over  forty-five.  Moreover,  he  wrote  the  Ars  Poetica  when 
fifty-six,  the  year  before  he  died.  So  his  mind  must  have 
remained  clear  even  to  the  last.  His  worst  poetry,  indeed,  some 
of  the  Satires  and  Epodes,  was  written  when  he  was  young 
and  well. 

Horace  became  less  lyrical  and  more  didactic  as  he  grew 
older ;  but  this  is  quite  a  natural  change  in  a  man  who  enters 
middle  life  an  invalid.  This  invalidism  made  him  more  of  a 
preacher,  philosopher  and  contented  country  gentleman  than  he 
perhaps  would  otherwise  have  been;  but  we  cannot  assume  it 
to  have  changed  the  quality  of  his  work. 

It  may,  however,  have  affected  the  quantity.  One  of  Hor- 
ace's greatest  achievements  was  his  brevity.  Though  a  profes- 
sional writer  for  thirty  years,  his  total  output  was  only  five  books 
of  Odes,  one  hundred  and  twenty-one  in  all,  and  about  an 
equal  quantity  of  verse  in  the  form  of  Epistles,  Satires  and  an 
Elssay  on  the  Art  of  Poetry. 

Horace  died  suddenly  at  the  age  of  fifty-seven.  The  cause 
of  his  death  is  unknown ;  but  when  we  consider  that  he  had  at 
times  lived  somewhat  riotously ;  was  never  very  strong,  yet  kept 
up  occasional  dissipations ;  was  choleric  and  passionate,  and.  to 
the  last,  fond  of  his  wine  and  Chloe ;  we  may  properly  infer  that 
he  had  an  arterial  sclerosis  and  a  bad  heart,  and  died  either  from 
a  cardio-renal  trouble  or  from  some  form  of  cerebral  apoplexy. 

C.  L.  D. 


STATUE  OF  ANTONIUS  MUSA 
Physician  to  Augustus  and  Horace 


xxiv        Horace:   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

to  hear  or  learn  of  anything  that  would  alleviate  his  illness ;  that 
he  was  offending  his  faithful  physicians  and  irritating  his  friends 
because  they  tried  to  arouse  him  from  his  fatal  lethargy,  (funes- 
to  veterno.)  (Epist.  1,  8). 

"Fidis  offendar  meJicis,  irascar  amicis, 
Cur  me  funesto  properent  arcere  veterno." 

But  Horace,  after  all,  did  not  have  any  very  serious  break- 
down, for  he  not  only  worked  every  year,  but  wrote  some  of 
his  best  poetry,  the  Carmen  Seculare  for  example,  when  he  was 
over  forty-five.  Moreover,  he  wrote  the  Ars  Poetica  when 
fifty-six,  the  year  before  he  died.  So  his  mind  must  have 
remained  clear  even  to  the  last.  His  worst  poetry,  indeed,  some 
of  the  Satires  and  Epodes,  was  written  when  he  was  young 
and  well. 

Horace  became  less  lyrical  and  more  didactic  as  he  grew 
older ;  but  this  is  quite  a  natural  change  in  a  man  who  enters 
middle  life  an  invalid.  This  invalidism  made  him  more  of  a 
preacher,  philosopher  and  contented  country  gentleman  than  he 
perhaps  would  otherwise  have  been;  but  we  cannot  assume  it 
to  have  changed  the  quality  of  his  work. 

It  may,  however,  have  affected  the  quantity.  One  of  Hor- 
ace's greatest  achievements  was  his  brevity.  Though  a  profes- 
sional writer  for  thirty  years,  his  total  output  was  only  five  books 
of  Odes,  one  hundred  and  twenty-one  in  all,  and  about  an 
equal  quantity  of  verse  in  the  form  of  Epistles,  Satires  and  an 
Elssay  on  the  Art  of  Poetry. 

Horace  died  suddenly  at  the  age  of  fifty-seven.  The  cause 
of  his  death  is  unknown ;  but  when  we  consider  that  he  had  at 
times  lived  somewhat  riotously ;  was  never  very  strong,  yet  kept 
up  occasional  dissipations ;  was  choleric  and  passionate,  and,  to 
the  last,  fond  of  his  wine  and  Chloe  ;  we  may  properly  infer  that 
he  had  an  arterial  sclerosis  and  a  bad  heart,  and  died  either  from 
a  cardio-renal  trouble  or  from  some  form  of  cerebral  apoplexy. 

C.  L.  D. 


STATUE  OF  ANTONIUS  MUSA 
Phycician   to  Augustus  and  Horace 


HORACE'S  EDUCATION,  HABITS,  AND 

VIEWS  OF  LIFE,  AS  TOLD  IN  HIS 

SATIRES  AND  EPISTLES 


The  idea  of  making  Horace  tell  the  story  of  his  life  by  the 
use  of  quotations  from  his  work,  has  been  elaborately  worked 
out  by  Mr.  Clarence  Cary.     His  translation  is  in  blank  verse, 
and  is  an  attempt  to  carry  out  the  style  of  the  original.     We 
have,  in  the  following  extracts,  pursued  in  part  the  same  line, 
but  to  a  very  much  less  extent.     We  have  printed  extracts  from 
the  Epistles  and  Satires  only,  and  chiefly  those  which  bear  upon 
his  education,  his  tribute  to  his  father,  his  relations  to  Maecenas, 
his  life  in  the  country,  and  in   Rome.     The  interest  of  these 
passages   lies   in    the   picture    they  give    of    Roman  life  two 
thousand   years   ago.        Most  of    the  translations  are  by    Sir 
Theodore  Martin,  whose  two  volumes  on  the  works  of  Horace 
form  altogether  the  finest  interpretation  of  the  poet  that  has  been 
made. 


HORACE'S  EDUCATION,  AND  HIS  START 

AS  A  POET 

I  was  brought  up  at  Rome,  and  there  was  taught 
What  ills  to  Greece  Achilles'  anger  wrought ; 
Then  Athens  bettered  that  dear  lore  of  song ; 
She  taught  me  to  distinguish  right  from  wrong, 
And  in  the  groves  of  Academe  to  sound 
The  way  to  truth,  if  so  she  might  be  found. 
But  from  that  spot,  so  pleasant  and  so  gay. 
Hard  times  and  troublous  swept  my  youth  away 
On  civil  war's  tempestuous  tide,  to  fight 


V-- 


;  F 


xxvi         Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

In  ranks  unmeet  to  cope  with  Caesar's  might. 
Whence  when  Phillippi,  with  my  pinions  clipped, 
Struck  to  the  dust,  of  land  and  fortune  stripped, 
Turned  me  adrift,  through  poverty  grown  rash, 
At  the  versemonger's  craft  I  made  a  dash. 

Epist.  II.  2     Martin 


!l 


HORACE  PAYS  TRIBUTE  TO  HIS  FATHER 

All  this  I  owe  my  father,  who,  though  poor. 

Lord  of  some  few  lean  acres,  and  no  more. 

Was  loath  to  send  me  to  the  village  school. 

Whereto  the  sons  of  men  of  mark  and  rule, — 

Centurions,  and  the  like, — were  wont  to  swarm. 

With  slate  and  satchel  on  sinister  arm. 

And  the  poor  dole  of  scanty  p>ence  to  pay 

The  starveling  teacher  on  the  quarter  day ; 

But  boldly  took  me  when  a  boy  to  Rome, 

There  to  be  taught  all  arts  that  grace  the  home 

Of  knight  and  senator.     To  see  my  dress, 

And  slaves  attending,  you'd  have  thought,  no  less 

Than  patrimonial  fortunes  old  and  great 

Had  furnished  forth  the  charges  of  my  state. 

When  with  my  tutors,  he  would  still  be  by. 

Nor  ever  let  me  wander  from  his  eye ; 

And  in  a  word  he  kept  me  chaste  (and  this 

Is  virtue's  crown)  from  all  that  was  amiss. 

Nor  such  in  act  alone,  but  in  repute. 

Till  even  scandal's  tattling  voice  was  mute. 

No  dread  had  he,  that  men  might  taunt  or  jeer. 

Should  I,  some  future  day,  as  auctioneer. 

Or,  like  himself,  as  tax-collector  seek 

With  petty  fees  my  humble  means  to  eke. 

Nor  should  I  then  have  murmured.     Now  I  know. 

More  earnest  thanks,  and  loftier  praise  I  owe. 

Reason  must  fail  me,  ere  I  cease  to  own 

With  pride,  that  I  have  such  a  father  known ! 

Nor  shall  I  stoop  my  birth  to  vindicate. 

By  charging,  like  the  herd,  the  wrong  on  Fate, 

That  I  was  not  of  noble  lineage  sprung : 

Far  other  creed  inspires  my  heart  and  tongue. 


Education,  Habits,  Views  of  Life 


xxvii 


For  now  should  Nature  bid  ail  living  men 

Retrace  their  years,  and  live  them  o'er  again. 

Each  culling,  as  his  inclination  bent, 

His  parents  for  himself,  with  mine  content, 

I  would  not  choose  whom  men  endow  as  great 

With  the  insignia  and  seats  of  state ; 

And,  though  I  seem  insane  to  vulgar  eyes. 

Thou  wouldst  perchance  esteem  me  truly  wise, 

In  thus  refusing  to  assume  the  care 

Of  irksome  state  I  was  unused  to  bear. 

Sat.  I,  6     Martin 


HOW  HORACE  WAS  TAUGHT  TO 

BE  GOOD 

But  if  I  still  seem  personal  and  bold, 
Perhaps  you'll  pardon,  when  my  story's  told. 
When  my  good  father  taught  me  to  be  good, 
Scarecrows  he  took  of  living  flesh  and  blood. 
Thus,  if  he  warned  me  not  to  spend  but  spare 
The  moderate  means  I  owe  to  his  wise  care, 
Twas,  "  See  the  life  that  son  of  Aibius  leads ! 
Observe  that  Barrus,  vilest  of  ill  weeds! 

rj^^L  \^^^^^^  '^^^^  ^^^  heedless  youth,  whose  taste 
Might  lead  them  else  a  fair  estate  to  waste." 
If  lawless  love  were  what  he  bade  me  shun, 
"Avoid  Scetanius'  slough,"  his  words  would  run; 
Wise  men,"  he'd  add,  "the  reasons  will  explain 
Why  you  should  follow  this,  from  that  refrain  : 
For  me,  if  I  can  train  you  in  the  ways 
Trod  by  the  worthy  folks  of  earlier  days. 
And,  while  you  need  direction,  keep  your  name 
And  life  unspotted,  I've  attained  my  aim : 
When  riper  years  have  seasoned  brain  and  limb, 
You'll  drop  your  corks,  and  like  a  Triton  swim." 
Twas  thus  he  formed  my  boyhood :  if  he  sought 
To  make  me  do  some  action  that  I  ought, 
"You  see  your  warrant  there,"  he'd  say,  and  clench 
His  word  with  some  grave  member  of  the  bench: 
So  too  with  things  forbidden :     "Can  you  doubt 
The  deed's  a  deed  an  honest  man  should  scout, 


i!  ! 

'1  i 


xxviii       Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

When,  just  for  this  same  matter,  these  and  those. 
Like  open  drains,  are  stinking  'neath  your  nose  ?  " 
Sick  gluttons  of  a  next-door  funeral  hear. 
And  learn  self-mastery  in  the  school  of  fear: 
And  so  a  neighbor's  scandal  many  a  time 
Has  kept  young  minds  from  running  into  crime. 

Thus  1  grew  up,  unstained  by  serious  ill. 
Though  venial  faults,  I  grant  you,  haunt  me  still. 

Sat.  I,  4     Conington 


HOW  HORACE  MET  MAECENAS 

No  chance  it  was  secured  me  thy  regards ; 
But  Virgil  first,  that  best  of  friends  and  bards. 
And  then  kind  Varius  mentioned  what  I  was. 
Before  you  brought,  with  many  a  faltering  pause. 
Dropping  some  few  brief  words  ( for  bashfulness 
Robbed  me  of  utterance  ),  1  did  not  profess 
That  1  was  sprung  of  lineage  old  and  great. 
Or  used  to  canter  round  my  own  estate, 
On  Satureian  barb,  but  what  and  who 
I  was  as  plainly  told.     As  usual,  you 
Brief  answer  make  me.     1  retire,  and  then. 
Some  nine  months  after,  summoning  me  again. 
You  bid  me  'mongst  your  friends  assume  a  place : 
And  proud  1  feel,  that  thus  I  won  thy  grace, 
Not  by  an  ancestry  long  known  to  fame, 
But  by  my  life,  and  heart  devoid  of  blame. 

Sat.  I.  6     Martin 


HORACE  IS  INTIMATE  WITH  MAECENAS 

Close  on  eight  years  it  now  must  be, 
Since  first  Maecenas  numbered  me 
Among  his  friends,  as  one  to  take 
Out  driving  with  him,  and  to  make 
The  confidant  of  trifles,  say, 
Like  this,  "What  is  the  time  of  day?" 

"The  Thracian  gladiator,  can 
One  match  him  with  the  Syrian?" 


II 


Education,  Habits,  Views  of  Life         xxix 

"These  chilly  mornings  will  do  harm, 
If  one  don't  mind  to  wrap  up  warm ; " 
Such  nothings  as  without  a  fear 
One  drops  into  the  chinkiest  ear. 


And  when  I  swear,  as  well  I  can. 
That  I  know  nothing,  for  a  man 
Of  silence  rare  and  most  discreet 
They  cry  me  up  to  all  the  street. 

Sat.  11,  6     Martin 


HE   IS   AN   OBJECT   OF   ENVY 

Yet  all  this  time  hath  envy's  glance 
On  me  looked  more  and  more  askance. 
From  mouth  to  mouth  such  comments  run : 
"Our  friend  indeed  is  Fortune's  son. 
Why,  there  he  was,  the  other  day. 
Beside  Maecenas  at  the  play ; 
And  at  the  Campus,  just  before. 
They  had  a  bout  at  battledore." 
Some  chilling  news  through  lane  and  street 
Spreads  from  the  Forum.     All  I  meet 
Accost  me  thus  : —  "Dear  friend,  you're  so 
Close  to  the  gods,  that  you  must  know  : 
About  the  Dacians,  have  you  heard 
Any  fresh  tidings  ?  "     "  Not  a  word ! " 
"You're  always  jesting  !"     "Now  may  all 
The  gods  confound  me,  great  and  small. 
If  I  have  heard  one  word!"      "Well,  well. 
But  you  at  any  rate  can  tell. 
If  Caesar  means  the  lands,  which  he 
Has  promised  to  his  troops,  shall  be 
Selected  from  Italian  ground. 
Or  in  Trinacria  be  found  ? " 


XXX  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

HE  LONGS  FOR  THE  COUNTRY 

Thus  do  my  wasted  days  slip  by, 
Not  without  many  a  wish  and  sigh, 
When,  when  shall  1  the  country  see. 
Its  woodlands  green, — oh,  when  be  free. 
With  books  of  great  old  men,  and  sleep. 
And  hours  of  dreamy  ease,  to  creep 
Into  oblivion  sweet  of  life. 
Its  agitations  and  its  strife? 
When  on  my  table  shall  be  seen 
Pythagoras's  kinsman  bean. 
And  bacon,  not  too  fat,  embellish 
My  dish  of  greens,  and  give  it  relish  } 

HE    ENTERTAINS    HIS    FRIENDS 

Oh  happy  nights,  oh  feasts  divine, 

When,  with  friends  I  love,  I  dine 

At  mine  own  hearth-fire,  and  the  meat 

We  leave  gives  my  bluff  hinds  a  treat ! 

No  stupid  laws  our  feasts  control. 

But  each  guest  drains  or  leaves  the  bowl. 

Precisely  as  he  feels  inclined. 

If  he  be  strong,  and  have  a  mind 

For  bumpers,  good  !     If  not,  he's  free 

To  sip  his  liquor  leisurely. 

And  then  the  talk  our  banquet  rouses ! 

But  not  about  our  neighbors*  houses, 

Or  if  'tis  generally  thought 

That  Lepos  dances  well  or  not  7 

But  what  concerns  us  nearer,  and 

Is  harmful  not  to  understand. 

Whether  by  wealth  or  worth,  'tis  plain. 

That  men  to  happiness  attain  ? 

By  what  we're  led  to  choose  our  friends, — 

Regard  for  them,  or  our  own  ends  ? 

In  what  does  good  consist,  and  what 

Is  the  supremest  form  of  that  ? 

And  then  friend  Cervius  will  strike  in 

With  some  old  grandam's  tale.  .   .  . 

Sat.  II,  6     Martin 


Education,  Habits,  Views  of  Life         xxxi 
HORACE'S  DAILY   LIFE  IN   ROME 

I  walk  alone,  by  mine  own  fancy  led. 
Inquire  the  price  of  potherbs  and  of  bread, 
The  circus  cross  to  see  its  tricks  and  fun. 
The  forum,  too,  at  times  near  set  of  sun ; 
With  other  fools  there  do  I  stand  and  gape 
Round  fortune-tellers'  stalls,  thence  home  escape 
To  a  plain  meal  of  pancakes,  pulse  and  pease ; 
Three  young  boy-slaves  attend  on  me  with  these. 
Upon  a  slab  of  snow-white  marble  stand 
A  goblet,  and  two  beakers ;  near  at  hand, 
A  common  ewer,  patera,  and  bowl, — 
Campania's  potteries  produced  the  whole. 

To  sleep  then  I 

I  keep  my  couch  till  ten,  then  walk  awhile. 
Or  having  read  or  writ  what  may  beguile 
A  quiet  after-hour,  anoint  my  limbs 
With  oil,  not  such  as  filthy  Natta  skims 
From  lamps  defrauded  of  their  unctuous  fare. 
And  when  the  sunbeams,  grown  too  hot  to  bear. 
Warn  me  to  quit  the  field,  and  hand-ball-play. 
The  bath  takes  all  my  weariness  away. 
Then,  having  lightly  dined,  just  to  appease 
The  sense  of  emptiness,  I  take  mine  ease. 
Enjoying  all  home's  simple  luxury. 
This  is  the  life  of  bard,  unclogged,  like  me. 
By  stern  ambition's  miserable  weight. 
So  placed,  I  own  with  gratitude,  my  state 
Is  sweeter,  ay,  than  though  a  quaestor's  power 
From  sire  and  grandsire's  sires  had  been  my  dower. 

Sat.  I,  6     Martin 

HE  TRIES  TO  WRITE  POETRY  IN   ROME 

Write  verse  in  Rome,  too  ?     How  could  I,  in  fact. 
Amidst  so  much  to  worry  and  distract? 
"Bail  me!"  writes  one.     "Cut  business  for  the  day," 
Another,  "and  I'll  read  you  my  new  play!" 
Then  on  the  Quirinal  is  one  sick  friend. 
One  on  Mount  Aventine,  quite  at  the  end, 
And  each  of  these  expects  a  call  from  me — 


I 

■■    >        II 


MM. 

Ir 


It 


■■  r. 


ill 


xxxii        Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Nice  manageable  distances,  you  see. 

"  But  then  the  streets  are  clear ;  with  nought,"  you  say, 

"To  hinder  one  from  musing  by  the  way!" 

Why  here  a  builder  in  a  fume  you  meet, 

With  mules  and  porters  cramming  all  the  street. 

Anon  a  crane,  whirling  a  stone  in  air 

Or  mighty  beam,  obstructs  the  thoroughfare. 

Then  there's  a  block  of  dismal  funeral  trains 

Jammed  up  and  struggling  with  huge  cumbrous  wains ; 

Anon  a  mad  dog  rushes  foaming  by. 

Anon  a  pig,  all  reeking  hom  the  sty. 

Epist.  II,  2     Martin 

HE   DESCRIBES    HIS   COUNTRY    SEAT 

As,  dearest  Quinctius,  you  may  wish  to  know 
The  things  this  country-place  of  mine  will  grow, 
If  it  enrich  me  with  oil,  apples,  wine. 
Or  if  its  fields  are  best  for  com  or  kine, 
Its  site  and  character  I  will  essay 
To  picture  for  you  in  my  chatty  way. 
Girdled  by  hills  it  lies,  through  which  but  one 
Small  valley,  rich  in  shade,  is  seen  to  run. 
Where  on  the  right  the  morning  sunbeams  play. 
Whilst  on  the  left  they  rest  at  close  of  day. 
You'd  like  the  air.     Wild  cherry  there,  and  sloe 
Purply  and  dark,  in  rich  profusion  grow. 
While  oak  and  ilex  bounteously  afford 
Food  for  my  herds,  and  shelter  for  their  lord. 

Epist.  I,  16     Martin 

HORACE   IS  AFRAID    HE    MAY  GET  ILL 

Only  five  days,  I  said,  I  should  be  gone ; 
Yet  August's  past,  and  still  I  linger  on. 
'Tis  true  I've  broke  my  promise.     But  if  you 
Would  have  me  well,  as  I  am  sure  you  do, 
Grant  me  the  same  indulgence,  which,  were  I 
Laid  up  with  illness,  you  would  not  deny, 
'  Although  I  claim  it  only  for  the  fear 
Of  being  ill,  this  deadly  time  of  year. 


(i 


Education,  Habits,   Views  of  Life 


xxxui 


When  autumn's  clammy  heat  and  early  fruits 
Deck  undertakers  out,  and  inky  mutes ; 
When  young  mamas,  and  fathers  to  a  man, 
With  terrors  for  their  sons  and  heirs  are  wan ; 
When  stifling  anteroom,  or  court,  distils 
Fevers  wholesale,  and  breaks  the  seals  of  wills. 
Should  winter  swathe  the  Alban  fields  in  snow, 
Down  to  the  sea  your  poet  means  to  go. 
To  nurse  his  ailments,  and,  in  cosy  nooks 
Close  huddled  up,  to  loiter  o'er  his  books. 
But  once  let  zephyrs  blow,  sweet  friend,  and  then, 
If  then  you'll  have  him,  he  will  quit  his  den. 
With  the  first  swallow  hailing  you  again. 

Epist.  1,  7.     Martin 


HE  TELLS  MAECENAS  HOW  TO  MAKE  A 

PRESENT 

When  you  bestowed  on  me  what  made  me  rich. 
Not  in  the  spirit  was  it  done,  in  which 
Your  bluff  Calabrian  on  a  guest  will  thrust 
His  pears:  "Come,  eat,  man,  eat — you  can, you  must!" 
"Indeed,  indeed,  my  friend,  I've  had  enough." 
"Then  take  some  home! "  "  You're  too  obliging."  "Stuff ! 
If  you  have  pockets  full  of  them,  I  guess, 
Your  little  lads  will  like  you  none  the  less." 
"I  really  can't — thanks  all  the  same!"     "You  won't? 
Why  then  the  pigs  shall  have  them,  if  you  don't." 

'Tis  fools  and  prodigals,  whose  gifts  consist 
Of  what  they  spurn,  or  what  is  never  missed : 
Such  tilth  will  never  yield,  and  never  could, 
A  harvest  save  of  coarse  ingratitude. 
A  wise  good  man  is  evermore  alert. 
When  he  encounters  it,  to  own  desert ; 
Nor  is  he  one  on  whom  you'd  try  to  pass 
For  sterling  currency  mere  lackered  brass. 
For  me,  'twill  be  my  aim  myself  to  raise 
Even  to  the  flattering  level  of  your  praise. 

Epist.  I,  7     Martin 


\ 


» 


I  ; 


t  : 


xxxiv       Horace:  Quintus  Horalius  Flaccus 

HORACE    INQUIRES    FOR    A    HEALTHY 
PLACE    AT   THE    SEA    SHORE 

Which  place  is  best  supplied  with  com,  d'ye  think  ? 

Have  they  rain-water  or  fresh  springs  to  drink  ? 

Their  wines  I  care  not  for :  when  at  my  farm 

1  can  drink  any  sort  without  much  harm ; 

But  at  the  sea  I  need  a  generous  kind 

To  warm  my  veins  and  pass  into  my  mind, 

Enrich  me  with  new  hopes,  choice  words  supply. 

And  make  me  comely  in  a  lady's  eye. 

Which  tract  is  best  for  game,  on  which  sea-coast 

Urchins  and  other  fish  abound  the  most. 

That  so,  when  I  return,  my  friends  may  see 

A  sleek  Phaeacian  come  to  life  in  me : 

These  things  you  needs  must  tell  me,  Vala  dear, 

And  I  no  less  must  act  on  what  I  hear. 

Epist.  I,  1 5     Conington 


t 


HORACE  GIVES  SEPTIMIUS  AN  INGENIOUS 
LETTER  OF  INTRODUCTION  TO  NERO 

Septimius  only  understands,  'twould  seem. 

How  high  I  stand  in,  Claudius,  your  esteem ; 

For  when  he  begs  and  prays  me,  day  by  day. 

Before  you  his  good  qualities  to  lay. 

As  not  unfit  to  share  the  heart  and  hearth 

Of  Nero,  who  selects  his  staff  for  worth ; 

When  he  supposes  you  to  me  extend 

The  rights  and  place  of  a  familiar  friend, — 

Much  better  than  myself  he  sees  and  knows. 

How  far  with  you  my  commendation  goes. 

Plea  upon  plea,  believe  me,  I  have  used. 

In  hope  he'd  hold  me  from  the  task  excused. 

Yet  feared  the  while,  it  might  be  thought  I  feigned 

Too  low  what  influence  I  perchance  have  gained; 

Dissembling  it  as  nothing  with  my  friends. 

To  keep  it  for  my  own  peculiar  ends. 

So  to  escape  such  dread  reproach,  I  put 

My  blushes  by,  and  boldly  urge  my  suit. 

If,  then,  you  hold  it  as  a  grace,  though  small. 


Education,  Habits,  Views  of  Life        xxxv 

To  doff  one's  bashfulness  at  friendship's  call. 
Enrol  him  in  your  suite,  assured  you'll  find 
A  man  of  heart  in  him,  as  well  as  mind. 

Epist.  I,  9     Martin 


HOW    TO    TREAT    FRIENDS 

True  love,  we  know,  is  blind ;  defects,  that  blight 

The  loved  one's  charms,  escape  the  lover's  sight. 

Nay,  pass  for  beauties ;  as  Balbinus  shows 

A  passion  for  the  wen  on  Agna's  nose. 

Oh,  with  our  friendships  that  we  did  the  same. 

And  screened  our  blindness  under  virtue's  name ! 

For  we  are  bound  to  treat  a  friend's  defect 

With  touch  most  tender,  and  a  fond  respect ; 

Even  as  a  father  treats  a  child's,  who  hints. 

The  urchin's  eyes  are  roguish,  if  he  squints : 

Or  if  he  be  as  stunted,  short,  and  thick. 

As  Sisyphus,  the  dwarf,  will  call  him  "  chick ! " 

If  crooked  all  ways,  in  back,  in  legs,  in  thighs. 

With  softening  phrases  will  the  flaw  disguise. 

So,  if  one  friend  too  close  a  fist  betrays. 

Let  us  ascribe  it  to  his  frugal  ways ; 

Or  if  another — such  we  often  find — 

To  flippant  jest  and  braggart  talk  inclined, 

'Tis  only  from  a  kindly  wish  to  try 

To  make  the  time  'mongst  friends  go  lightly  by ; 

Another's  tongue  is  rough  and  over-free. 

Let's  call  it  bluntness  and  sincerity ; 

Another's  choleric;  him  we  must  screen. 

As  cursed  with  feelings  for  his  peace  too  keen. 

This  is  the  course,  methinks,  that  makes  a  friend. 

And,  having  made,  secures  him  to  the  end. 

Sat.  I,  3      Martin 


I 


HORACE'S    PRAYERS 

For  me,  when  freshened  by  my  spring's  pure  cold. 
Which  makes  my  villagers  looked  pinched  and  old. 
What  prayers  are  mine?     "O  may  I  yet  possess 
The  goods  I  have,  or,  if  heaven  pleases,  less! 


!i 


xxxvi      Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Let  the  few  years  that  Fate  may  grant  me  still 
Be  all  my  own,  not  held  at  others'  will ! 
Let  me  have  books,  and  stores  for  one  year  hence, 
Nor  make  my  life  one  flutter  of  suspense ! " 

But  I  forbear ;  sufficient  'tis  to  pray 
To  Jove  for  what  he  gives  and  takes  away ; 
Grant  life,  grant  fortune,  for  myself  I'll  find 
That  best  of  blessings — a  contented  mind. 

Epist.  I,  18     Conington 

My  prayers  with  this  I  used  to  charge, — 

A  piece  of  land  not  very  large, 

Wherein  there  should  a  garden  be, 

A  clear  spring  flowing  ceaselessly. 

And  where,  to  crown  the  whole,  there  should 

A  patch  be  found  of  growing  wood. 

All  this,  and  more,  the  gods  have  sent. 
And  1  am  heartily  content. 
Oh  son  of  Maia,  that  I  may 
These  bounties  keep  is  all  I  pray. 
If  ne'er  by  craft  or  base  design 
I've  swelled  what  little  store  is  mine. 
Nor  mean  it  ever  shall  be  wrecked 
By  profligacy  or  neglect ; 
If  never  from  my  lips  a  word 
Shall  drop  of  wishes  so  absurd 
As,  "  Had  I  but  that  little  nook. 
Next  to  my  land,  that  spoils  its  look !" 
Or,  "Would  some  lucky  chance  unfold 
A  crock  to  me  of  hidden  gold. 
As  to  the  man,  whom  Hercules 
Enriched  and  settled  at  his  ease. 
Who,  with  the  treasure  he  had  found. 
Bought  for  himself  the  very  ground 
Which  he  before  for  hire  had  tilled !" 

Sat.  II,  6     Martin 


Ripe  berries  from  the  olive  bough. 
Mallows  and  endives  be  my  fare. 

Son  of  Latona  !     Hear  my  vow ; 
Apollo,  grant  my  prayer. 


'  * 


Education,  Habits,  Views  of  Life      xxx\>ii 

Health  to  enjoy  the  blessings  sent 

From  heaven;  a  mind  unclouded,  strong; 

A  cheerful  heart ;  a  wise  content ; 
An  honoured  age  ;  and  song. 

Ode  I,  31      DeVerc 

If  only  poverty  keep  from  my  door. 
Unlovely  poverty,  I  ask  no  more ; 
The  ship  I  sail  in  may  be  large  or  small, 
'Twill  carry  me,  and  that  is  all  in  all. 
Fair  winds  we  may  not  have,  nor  swelling  sails. 
Yet  neither  have  we  always  adverse  gales. 
In  strength,  in  worth,  in  influence,  powers  of  mind, 
In  rank  and  fortune,  though  I  come  behind 
The  very  foremost,  many  yet  there  be 
That  in  their  turn  come  lagging  after  me. 

Epist.  II,  2     Martin 


HORACE   TO   HIS   OWN    BOOK 

Horace  addresses  this  Epistle  to  his  Book  as  though  it  were 
a  young  and  restless  girl  anxious  to  go  out  and  see  the  world. 
We  have  given  only  the  first  and  last  part  of  the  Poem.  The 
Book  is  the  first  of  his  Epistles.  The  Socii  were  famous 
booksellers  whose  shop  was  near  the  temples  of  Janus  and 
Vertunmus. 

I  read  the  meaning  of  that  wistful  look 

Toward  Janus  and  Vertumnus,  O  my  book! 
Upon  the  Socii's  shelves  you  long  to  stand. 
Rubbed  smooth  with  pumice  by  their  skillful  hand. 
You  chafe  at  lock  and  modest  seal ;  you  groan. 
That  you  should  only  to  a  few  be  shown. 
And  sigh  by  all  the  public  to  be  read. 
You  in  far  other  notions  trained  and  bred. 
Well,  go  your  way,  whereso  you  please  and  when, — 
But,  once  sent  forth,  you  come  not  back  again. 


But  if,  i>erchance,  some  sunny  afternoon 

To  hear  your  voice  shall  eager  ears  attune, 

Say,  that  though  bom  a  freedman's  son,  possessed 


xxxviii     Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Of  slender  means,  beyond  the  parent  nest 

1  soared  on  ampler  wing :  thus  what  in  birth 

I  lack,  let  that  be  added  to  my  worth. 

Say,  that  in  war,  and  also  here  at  home, 

1  stood  well  with  the  foremost  men  of  Rome ; 

That  small  in  stature,  prematurely  grey, 

Sunshine  was  life  to  me  and  gladness ;  say 

Besides,  though  hasty  in  my  temper,  I 

Was  just  as  quick  to  put  my  anger  by. 

Then,  should  my  age  be  asked  you,  add  that  four 

And  forty  years  I'd  flourished,  and  no  more. 

In  the  December  of  that  year,  which  fame 

Will  join  with  Lepidus*  and  Lollius*  name. 

Epist.  I,  20     Martin 


ON  THE  VALUE   OF   THE   POET 

Horace  thought  the  true  Poet  had  all  the  powers  and  duties 
of  a  Teacher  and  a  Priest.  We  give  below  a  portion  only  of 
his  panegyric  : 

His  lessons  form  the  child's  young  lips,  and  wean 
The  boyish  ear  from  words  and  tales  unclean ; 
As  years  roll  on,  he  moulds  the  ripening  mind. 
And  makes  it  just  and  generous,  sweet  and  kind ; 
He  tells  of  worthy  precedents,  displays 
The  examples  of  the  past  to  after  days, 
Consoles  affliction,  and  disease  allays. 

Epist.  II,   i      Conington 


Education,  Habits,  Views  of  Life       xxxix 

Since  you,  great  Caesar,  singly  wield  the  charge 
Of  Rome's  concerns,  so  manifold  and  large, — 
With  sword  and  shield  the  commonwealth  protect. 
With  morals  grace  it,  and  with  laws  correct, — 
The  bard,  methinks,  would  do  a  public  wrong. 
Who,  having  gained  your  ear,  should  keep  it  long. 

Epist.  II,  I     Conington 


HORACE   AND   MAECENAS 

Think  not  that  I  have  sworn  a  bootless  oath ; 

Yes,  we  shall  go,  shall  go. 
Hand  linked  in  hand,  where'er  thou  leadest,  both 

The  last  sad  road  below. 

Ode  II.  1 7     Martin 


HORACE   AND   AUGUSTUS 

When  time  and  circumstance  suggest, 

I  shall  not  fail  to  do  my  best ; 

But  never  words  of  mine  shall  touch 

Great  Caesar's  ear,  but  only  such 

As  are  to  the  occasion  due. 

And  spring  from  my  conviction,  too ; 

For  stroke  him  with  an  awkward  hand, 

And  he  kicks  out — you  understand  ? 

Sat.  II,  i 


Marti  I 


HORACE'S  SO-CALLED  MISTRESSES 


We  can  best  preface  this  subject  with  the  lines  by  George 
M.   Whicher,    published   in   Scribner's    Magazine,    January, 
1902: 


BALLADE   OF    HORACE'S   LOVES 

Lydia,  (ickle  and  fair, 

Lyce,  the  faded  of  hue, 
Lalage,  Pholoe — there! 

Hark,  how  the  I's  ripple  through. 

These  were  the  beauties  that  drew. 
These  lilting  and  lyrical  dames! 

Leuconoe,  Glycera — Pooh! 
Why,  Horace,  they're  nothing  but  names ! 

Pyrrha,  the  golden  of  hair, 

Lyde  the  lyrist,  the  shrew 
Myrtale — well,  I  declare! 

What  in  the  world  shall  we  do  ? 

Must  we  abandon  the  crew. 
Their  gallants  and  gaddings  and  games? 

Barine,  Lycoris,  adieu! 
Alas !  ye  are  nothing  but  names ! 

All  were  but  syllabled  air, 

Fancies  that  fluttered  and  flew. 

Innocent  Phidyle's  prayer, 
Chloe,  the  fawn,  and  the  few 
Years  that  your  Cinara  knew, 

Cinara,  sweetest  of  flames! 

Ah,  Horace,  I'm  sorry  for  you; 

Alas !  they  were  nothing  but  names ! 


i^ 


Horace's  So-called  Mistresses  xli 

Envoi 

Ladies!  ye  shrink  from  this  view; 

But  soon  all  your  loves  and  your  fames. 
Fun,  frailties,  frolics,  ye  too 

Alas !  will  be  nothing  but  names. 

The  conclusion  of  most  students  of  Horace  is  that  he  did 
not  have  a  sort  of  harem,  as  some  have  suggested,  but  merely  a 
beautihil  vocabulary.  He  went  through  one  bitter  love  affair 
with  Canidia.  He  seems,  according  to  Martin,  to  have  had  a 
real  tenderness  for  Cinera,  who  treated  him  kindly  at  times, 
but  who  died  early.  In  his  later  years  he  recalled  this  friend- 
ship, and  the  happiness  and  trouble  it  caused  him.  He  was 
apparently  also  much  smitten  with  Lydia,  to  whom  he  writes 
four  Odes.  Nothing  is  known  of  the  personal  history  or 
character  of  any  of  the  women  to  whom  he  addresses  his 
poems,  or  to  whom  he  makes  reference.  Horace  was  a 
bachelor  and  apparently  not  a  student  of  women  as  a  factor  in 
the  social  organism  of  the  time.  He  has  nothing  to  say  against 
them  as  a  class,  nor  does  he  praise  them  for  their  domestic  or 
social  virtues,  nor  indeed  for  anything  but  their  personal  quali- 
ties. He  does,  indeed,  speak  with  eloquence  and  appreciation 
of  the  humbler  class  of  women,  the  farmer's  wife,  who  is 
"pudica  mulier,"  who  builds  the  fire  to  keep  her  husband 
warm,  milks  the  cows,  and  takes  out  the  wine  and  prepares  the 
meals  for  the  family. 

Horace's  love  poems  were  not  real  love  poetry  or  even  love 
songs,  though  they  had  sometimes  a  suggestion  of  physical 
warmth.  They  were  songs  of  pleasant  reminiscence,  or  of 
some  prospective  meeting,  of  jealousy  or  reproach,  and  adieu. 
In  fact,  modem  romantic  love  did  not  enter  into  poetry  until 
the  time  of  Petrarch,  and   Horace  was  not  of  the  Petrarch 

type. 

In  one  of  the  Satires,  (III,  11)  he  allows  a  certain  Damasip- 
pus  to  make  fun  of  him,  and  to  accuse  him  of  imitating  the 


X 


:lii 


Horace :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 


manners  of  the  great,  of  writing  verses,  of  being  quick  tem- 
pered, extravagant  and  fond  of  the  ladies,  "of  frequent  fits  of 
rage",  "of  a  style  of  living  beyond  his  means",  of  "girls  by  the 
score".  In  all  these  respects  Horace  seems  to  have  been  open 
to  remark;  but  there  was  no  very  serious  degree  of  perversity 
in  him.  Had  there  been  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  have 
published  his  faults  so  candidly.  Horace  wrote  many  Odes  to 
many  young  women  of  whom  we  know  nothing  beyond  their 
names,  and  such  beautiful  names ;  — Chloe,  Phyllis,  Leuconoe, 
Barine,  Myrtale,  Lydia,  Phryne.  They  were  mostly  of  Greek 
origin,  and  they  represented  either  simply  names,  or  ladies  of 
the  hetairai  class.  But  his  songs  to  these  fair  persons  lack 
evidence  of  deep  passion,  though  they  reveal  the  attitude  of  his 
time  toward  the  goddess  of  Gnidos. 

C  L.  D. 


HORACE'S  FRIENDS 


Horace  was  evidently  a  man  who  had  many  friends,  and 
friends  in  various  walks  of  life.  Those  to  whom  he  was  most 
closely  attached,  aside  from  Maecenas,  were  chiefly  men  of 
letters  or  men  of  means  enjoying  the  social  life  of  the  city.  He 
gives  a  list  of  those  friends  whom  he  particularly  wished  to 
please  with  his  writings.  It  included  Virgil,  Varius,  Valgius, 
Fumius  and  Pollio,  who  were  eminent  as  poets,  orators  or 
historians.  Others  of  them  were,  like  Maecenas,  Plotius  and 
Messala,  men  of  affairs  and  soldiers  as  well  as  patrons  of 
literature  and  art.  A  few  like  Fuscus,  Bibulus,  and  Servius 
were  men  about  town,  interested  in  literature  and  promoters  of 
good  fellowship.  Beside  these  there  were  Pompey,  his  early 
companion  in  arms;  the  Lollii,  father  and  son,  the  former  a 
politician  and  soldier,  the  son  a  student ;  the  Pisos,  to  whom 
he  addressed  his  "Ars  Poetica;"  also  Septimius,  Vala,  Lamia 
and  Quinctius,  men  of  political  importance.  In  poems  addressed 
to  these  persons  he  celebrates  their  successes,  consoles  them  in 
their  troubles,  invites  them  to  his  home,  or  discourses  to  them 
some  of  his  favorite  moralities. 

Horace  showed  a  genuine  and  affecting  attachment  to 
Maecenas,  a  nobleman  of  high  rank,  adviser  of  Augustus  and 
something  of  an  author  himself.  He  writes  to  Maecenas  when 
the  latter  is  ill  and  protests  that  he  must  not  think  of  dying. 
He  swears  that  they  cannot  be  parted  and  that  if  Maecenas 
dies  he  will  not  survive  him. 

"Think  not,  that  I  have  sworn  a  bootless  oath; 

Yes,  we  shall  go,  shall  go. 
Hand  linked  in  hand,  where'er  thou  leadest.  both 

The  last  sad  road  below!"        ,   „  ,,    ,.    . 

Ode  II.  17     Martin 


'f 


xliv         Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Virgil,  also,  was  very  close  to  Horace,  at  least  in  the  latter's 
earlier  life.  The  great  epic  poet  was  the  older  of  the  two 
and  somewhat  of  an  invalid ;  but  he  had  an  assured  i>o8ition  in 
Rome  when  Horace  reached  that  city,  and  was  able  to  help 
him.  Varius  was  another  poet  to  whom  Horace  was  appa- 
rently much  attached  and  indebted.  We  know  little  of  him 
except  that  he  wrote  good  poetry,  and  had  a  reputation  almost 
equal  to  that  of  Virgil.  Horace  was  associated  with  Pompey 
in  the  army  of  Brutus,  and  they  fought  together.  When 
Pompey,  after  his  defeat,  came  back  to  Rome,  Horace  sang 
him  a  song  of  welcome  which  showed  the  warmth  of  genuine 
friendship.  Horace  wrote  an  Ode  to  Lamia,  and  this,  as  well 
as  a  reference  in  one  of  his  Letters,  showed  he  was  a  friend  for 
whose  comfort  he  was  sacrificing  himself. 

Horace  admired  Augustus,  and  sang  his  praises,  though  he 
may  have  been  somewhat  under  official  compulsion.  Perhaps 
he  was  a  little  afraid  of  the  great  man.  However,  two  of 
Horace's  most  noble  poems,  the  Secular  Hymn,  and  the 
Praises  of  Drusus,  were  written  at  the  suggestion  or  order  of 
the  emperor. 

Horace  was  not  always  happy  in  his  choice  of  friends ;  at 
least  history  does  not  paint  them  all  as  unspotted  characters. 
Plancus,  whom  he  advises  to  drown  care  with  wine,  was  an 
able  soldier,  but  an  adventurer  and  voluptuary,  who  scarcely 
needed  the  advice.  Antonius  lulus,  the  poet,  was  a  man  of 
distinction  and  wealth ;  but  he  was  condemned  to  death  for  an 
intrigue  with  Julia,  the  daughter  of  Augustus. 

Horace  celebrates  Lollius  as  "  a  soul  of  prescient  power,  Not 
lifted  up  in  prosperous  hour";  ....  " Severe  to  greedy  fame  ; 
....  secure  against  the  world's  great  magnet,  gain".  This 
man  plundered  the  nations  whom  he  conquered,  was  later 
convicted  of  bribery,  and  died  by  his  own  hands. 

Licinius,  whom  Horace  advises  to  moderation  and  the 
golden  mean,  became  a  conspirator  against  Augustus  and  was 
put  to  death. 


VIRGIL  READING  HIS  GEORGICS  TO  HORACE,  VARIUS  AND 
MAECENAS,  AT  THE  HOME  OF  MAECENAS 
From  the  Painting  by  Jalabert,   1847 


:lw 


Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 


Virgil,  also,  was  very  close  to  Horace,  at  least  in  the  latter's 
earlier  life.  The  great  epic  poet  was  the  older  of  the  two 
and  somewhat  of  an  invalid ;  but  he  had  an  assured  position  in 
Rome  when  Horace  reached  that  city,  and  was  able  to  help 
him.  Varius  was  another  poet  to  whom  Horace  was  appa- 
rently much  attached  and  indebted.  We  know  little  of  him 
except  that  he  wrote  good  poetry,  and  had  a  reputation  almost 
equal  to  that  of  Virgil.  Horace  was  associated  with  Pompey 
in  the  army  of  Brutus,  and  they  fought  together.  When 
Pompey,  after  his  defeat,  came  back  to  Rome,  Horace  sang 
him  a  song  of  welcome  which  showed  the  warmth  of  genuine 
friendship.  Horace  wrote  an  Ode  to  Lamia,  and  this,  as  well 
as  a  reference  in  one  of  his  Letters,  showed  he  was  a  friend  for 
whose  comfort  he  was  sacrificing  himself. 

Horace  admired  Augustus,  and  sang  his  praises,  though  he 
may  have  been  somewhat  under  official  compulsion.  Perhaps 
he  was  a  little  afraid  of  the  great  man.  However,  two  of 
Horace's  most  noble  poems,  the  Secular  Hymn,  and  the 
Praises  of  Drusus,  were  written  at  the  suggestion  or  order  of 
the  emperor. 

Horace  was  not  always  happy  in  his  choice  of  friends ;  at 
least  history  does  not  paint  them  all  as  unspotted  characters. 
Plancus,  whom  he  advises  to  drown  care  with  wine,  was  an 
able  soldier,  but  an  adventurer  and  voluptuary,  who  scarcely 
needed  the  advice.  Antonius  lulus,  the  poet,  was  a  man  of 
distinction  and  wealth ;  but  he  was  condemned  to  death  for  an 
intrigue  with  Julia,  the  daughter  of  Augustus. 

Horace  celebrates  Lollius  as  "  a  soul  of  prescient  power,  Not 
lifted  up  in  prosperous  hour";  ....  " Severe  to  greedy  fame  ; 
.  .  .  .  secure  against  the  world's  great  magnet,  gain".  This 
man  plundered  the  nations  whom  he  conquered,  was  later 
convicted  of  bribery,  and  died  by  his  own  hands. 

Licinius,  whom  Horace  advises  to  moderation  and  the 
golden  mean,  became  a  conspirator  against  Augustus  and  was 
put  to  death. 


VIRGIL  READING  HIS  GEORGICS  TO  HORACE,  VARIUS  AND 
MAECENAS,  AT  THE  HOME  OF  MAECENAS 
From  the  Painting  by  Jalabert,   1847 


Horace's  Friends 


:h 


However,  these  were  troublous  times  when  neither  fortune 
nor  character  were  secure.  Horace  himself  was  evidently  an 
attractive  personality,  and  had  strong  attachments  for  those 
whom  he  chose  as  his  associates.  He  speaks  of  friends  and 
friendship  much  more  warmly  than  he  does  of  lovers  and  love. 
No  other  inmiortal  poet  had  so  many  friends  or  such  important 
ones  as  did  Horace.  _ 

C.  L.  D. 


ij*' 


HORACE'S  DEITIES 


Horace  is  as  intimate  with  the  deities  as  with  his  friends  and 
patrons.  He  rarely  sings  without  introducing  a  god  or  a 
goddess ;  and  they  are  as  an  important  part  of  his  vocabulary 
as  the  woods  and  mountains.  His  deities  are  the  familiar 
ones,  and  are  rarely  mentioned  without  some  attributive.  Chief 
among  them  were,  Jove  the  thunderer,  father,  and  guardian ; 
Venus,  cruel  mother  of  loves;  Bacchus,  bringer  out  of  the 
truths  of  the  heart ;  unerring  Apollo,  god  of  song  and  prophecy  ; 
his  sister,  Diana,  ruler  of  the  woods ;  eloquent  Mercury,  winged 
son  of  fostering  Maia ;  Faunus,  the  great  god  Pan,  ever  ready 
to  leave  his  Grecian  hills  and  smile  upon  the  fields  of  Horace. 

Then  there  were  the  "intact"  Pallas,  glowing  Vulcan,  un- 
pitying  Pluto,  and  Mars  the  guardian  god  of  War. 

Of  the  Muses  he  chose  Melpomene,  the  muse  of  serious 
song,  for  his  special  appeals ;  but  he  invokes  also  Euterpe,  Clio, 
and  Polyhymnia.  The  modest  graces,  children  of  Bacchus 
and  Venus,  the  Nymphs  and  Satyrs  all  go  to  help  out  his  poetic 
imagery  and  furnish  objects  for  his  invocations. 

The  world  in  those  days  was  full  of  minor  and  local  deities, 
gods  of  the  hearth,  of  the  garden,  of  the  rivers,  and  of  cities 
and  seas.     They  did  not  seem  to  mean  much  to  Flaccus. 

It  is  not  difficult,  as  a  rule,  to  follow  the  poet  in  his  dealings 
with  Olympus ;  but  Horace  did  not  like  to  repeat  himself,  and 
he  is  continually  referring  to  gods,  not  by  their  usual  names,  but 
by  names  of  mountains,  or  countries  or  temples  where  they 
were  especially  worshipped.  Venus  is  called  Cythera,  and 
Erycina,  goddess  of  Gnidos  or  Paphos.  Bacchus  is  also 
Liber,  and  Evius,  and  the  son  of  Semele ;  Jove  is  One  bom  of 
Saturn,  and  Apollo  is  Latona*s  son,  Pythius  or  Cynthius. 


Horace's  Deities 


xlvii 


Horace  deals  much  with  winds  and  the  weather,  and  con- 
sequently with  Aeolus  king  of  the  winds,  and  his  children 
lapyx,  Eurus,  Notus  and  Auster,  each  representing  a  breeze 
from  some  particular  quarter. 

It  seems  most  probable  that  Horace  had  a  thin  and  cultivated 

heathen  faith  in  the  reality  of  celestial  influences,  and  felt  that 

in  some  vague  way  his  deities  lived  and  exercised  power  over 

mankind,  though  not  working  miracles.      He   admits  that  he 

was  "parcus  cultor  Deorum". — not  a  regular  attendant  at  the 

temples;    but   he   avers    that   he   will  change  his    course  and 

attend  to  his  religious  affairs.     His   belief  in  a  future  was  the 

common,  ancient  one  of  a  shadowy,  ghostly  life  upon  certain 

dark  Plutonian  shores.     He  introduces  a  ghost  into  his  poetry 

and  believed,  apparently,  in  the  merit  of  burying  the  ashes  of 

the  dead  lest  the  spirit  wander  disconsolate,  unable  to  reach  a 

final  resting  place. 

C.  L.  D. 


THE  GEOGRAPHY  OF  HORACE 

Horace  had  an  objective  mind,  and  was  fond  of  aiustrating 
his  poetry  with  references  to  places  and  people.  A  little  study 
of  the  map  of  the  ancient  world  makes  more  apt  and  vivid  many 
of  his  geographical  allusions.  He  speab  oftenest,  naturally,  of 
the  regions  of  Greece,  of  the  towns  and  mountains  of  Italy,  and 
of  the  country  about  the  Mediterranean.  The  places  in  Italy 
to  which  he  most  often  alludes  were  Rome  itself  and  certain 
resorts  near  by.  Tibur,  Tarentum.  The  Sabine  Farm.  Prae- 
neste,  and  Baiae.  all  places  which  he  lived  in  or  frequently 

visited. 

He  had  his  friends  and  interests  in  remoter  regions,  also,  in 

Germany,  Spain  and  wherever  the  armies  of  Rome  were 
fighting.  The  Roman  world  was  the  whole  world,  and  the 
conquests  of  Augustus  and  his  generals  were  topics  of  da^y 
and  personal  interest.  His  poetic  imagery  may  be  said  to  have 
been  bounded,  geographically  speaking,  on  the  east  by  the 
Scythians,  Dacians.  Gelonians,  Parthians.  and  the  Seres,  repre- 
senting the  fierce  nations  of  Tartary,  Arabia  and  the  region 
about  the  Black  and  Caspian  Seas ;  on  the  north  by  the  Alps, 
Germany,  Gaul  and  Britain ;  on  the  west  by  Spain  and  the 
Atlantic ;  and  on  the  south  by  Mauritania,  Lydia  and  Getulia, 
regions  of  Africa,  full  of  wUd  beasts  and  savage  men.  A 
map,  which  we  call  "The  Map  of  Horace's  World",  gives 
many  of  the  places  to  which  he  most  often  alludes. 

He  speaks  of  his  native  place,  Venusium.  He  refers  often 
to  several  districts  of  Italy,  such  as  Campagnia  and  Latium.  and 
to  regions  like  Falemus  and  Caecubus  from  which  came  good 
wine.  He  calls  the  Italians,  Daunians,  from  Daunia.  a  region 
in  Apulia,  near  where  he  was  bom.  He  sometimes  gives  to  Italy 
the  name  Hesperia.     We  append  a  map  of  part  of  Italy  which 


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5 


THE  GEOGRAPHY  OF  HORACE 

Horace  had  an  objective  mind,  and  was  fond  of  illustrating 
his  poetry  with  references  to  places  and  people.  A  little  study 
of  the  map  of  the  ancient  world  makes  more  apt  and  vivid  many 
of  his  geographical  allusions.  He  speaks  oftenest,  naturally,  of 
the  regions  of  Greece,  of  the  towns  and  mountains  of  Italy,  and 
of  the  country  about  the  Mediterranean.  The  places  in  Italy 
to  which  he  most  often  alludes  were  Rome  itself  and  certain 
resorts  near  by,  Tibur,  Tarentum,  The  Sabine  Farm.  Prae- 
neste,  and   Baiae,  all  places   which  he  lived  in  or  hrequently 

visited. 

He  had  his  friends  and  interests  in  remoter  regions,  also,  in 
Germany,  Spain  and  wherever  the  armies  of  Rome  were 
fighting.  The  Roman  world  was  the  whole  world,  and  the 
conquests  of  Augustus  and  his  generals  were  topics  of  daily 
and  personal  interest.  His  poetic  imagery  may  be  said  to  have 
been  bounded,  geographically  speaking,  on  the  east  by  the 
Scythians,  Dacians,  Gelonians,  Parthians.  and  the  Seres,  repre- 
senting the  fierce  nations  of  Tartary,  Arabia  and  the  region 
about  the  Black  and  Caspian  Seas ;  on  the  north  by  the  Alps, 
Germany.  Gaul  and  Britain ;  on  the  west  by  Spain  and  the 
Atlantic ;  and  on  the  south  by  Mauritania,  Lydia  and  Getulia. 
regions  of  Africa,  full  of  wild  beasts  and  savage  men.  A 
map,  which  we  call  "The  Map  of  Horace's  World",  gives 
many  of  the  places  to  which  he  most  often  alludes. 

He  speaks  of  his  native  place.  Venusium.  He  refers  often 
to  several  districts  of  Italy,  such  as  Campagnia  and  Latium.  and 
to  regions  like  Falernus  and  Caecubus  from  which  came  good 
wine.  He  calls  the  Italians.  Daunians.  from  Daunia,  a  region 
in  Apulia,  near  where  he  was  bom.  He  sometimes  gives  to  Italy 
the  name  Hesperia.     We  append  a  map  of  part  of  Italy  which 


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The  Geography  of  Horace  xlix 

shows  those  places  to  which  most  frequent  reference  is  made. 

Horace  has  more  mountains  than  any  other  geographical 
features  in  his  verses.  On  them  his  gods  and  goddesses  lived, 
and  to  love  the  mountains  was  one  of  the  ancient  functions  of 
Bacchus,  his  favorite  god.  As  Horace's  Pantheon  was  a 
Greek  one,  he  naturally  sings  most  often  of  the  mountains  of 
that  country,  of  Helicon  in  Thessaly,  sacred  to  the  Muses,  of 
Pafnassus  near  by,  and  of  Pindus ;  also  of  Lycaeus  in  Arcadia, 
sacred  to  the  great  god  Pan ;  of  Erymanthus,  one  of  the  many 
homes  of  Venus ;  and  of  Cynthius  in  Delos,  the  home  of  both 
Apollo  and  Diana. 

Of  the  mountains  of  Italy  we  hear  much  less.  These  were 
beautiful,  but  they  were  not  sacred  to  the  gods  of  his  poetry. 
He  mentions  Mount  Vulture,  near  his  native  town,  in  whose 
woods  he  was  lost  when  a  boy ;  Algidus,  a  mountain  not  far 
from  Rome,  famous  for  its  cool  breezes ;  also  he  sings  of  the 
snow-capped  peak  of  Soracte  in  Tuscany,  and  of  a  small 
mountain  near  the  Sabine  Farm,  Lucretelis,  upon  whose  slopes 
Faunus  looked  kindly. 

The  seas  on  which  his  personae  sailed  were  the  Mediterra- 
nean and  some  of  its  subdivisions,  the  Aegean,  the  Adriatic, 
the  Tyrrhene,  the  latter  l5ring  between  Italy  and  Corsica ;  the 
Myrtoan  and  Icarian,  which  were  parts  of  the  Aegean ;  and 
the  Atlantic,  the  Black  and  the  Caspian  seas. 

Of  islands  he  sings  more  often  of  those  of  Greece,  in  the 
Aegean  sea.  Cythera  and  Cyprus,  each  having  a  temple  to 
Venus;  Crete,  Rhodes  and  Lesbos,  famous  islands  in  history 
and  poetry;  and  the  shining  Cyclades,  all  were  important  to 
Horace. 

Horace  was  a  poet  to  understand  whom,  in  the  original, 
geography  is  almost  as  necessary  as  ability  to  read  Latin. 
Fortunately  his  translators  often  leave  out  local  references,  and 
Horace  in  English  does  not  require  a  more  extensive  knowledge 
of  classical  geography  than  can  be  gathered  from  a  casual  study 
of  the  maps  here  published.  C.  L.  D. 


THE  ADMONITIONS  OF  HORACE 


An  industrious  compiler  has  collected  a  thousand  sayings  of 
Horace  approved  of  by  the  wise  and  learned.  This  is  p>erhaps 
too  much.  Horace  was  wise  for  his  time  and  in  a  pagan  way ; 
but  his  wisdom  was  only  a  kind  of  inspired  good  sense  and  like 
his  morality  had  a  narrow  range.  Yet  he  spoke  words  of  wis- 
dom and  admonition  in  apt  and  striking  phrases ;  and  illustrated 
them  with  forceful  imagery  or  applied  them  in  simple  tales. 
There  have  been  many  preachers  and  wise  men  since  his  time ; 
but  no  one  quite  fits  the  mould  of  Flaccus. 

Some  of  his  philosophy  is  scattered  through  the  Odes  and 
other  writings  which  appear  in  the  following  pages.  We  pre- 
sent him  here  as  a  Moralist  in  what  might  be  called  a  Mosaic 
of  the  Admonitions  of  Horace,  embellished  with  some  of  the 
Emblemata  of  Otho  Vaenius,  Antwerp,  1612.  In  the  six- 
teenth century  Horace  was  ranked  as  a  great  preacher  as  well 
as  a  poet  and  the  work  of  Vaenius,  approved  by  the  Church, 
passed  through  many  editions.  The  illustrations  present  Roman 
life  from  the  standpoint  of  the  Dutch  craftsmen  of  the  sixteenth 
century. 

Equanimity.  Preserve  an  even  mind  in  arduous  times,  and 
in  prosperity  show  no  over-weening  joy.  You  live  more  per- 
fectly, Licinius,  if  you  take  the  golden  mean,  secure  from  the 
squalor  of  the  hut  and  the  envy  of  the  palace.  Crave  not  the 
burdens  of  office  or  the  cares  of  riches, — the  tall  pine  is  most 
tossed  by  gales  and  lofty  towers  fall  with  the  heaviest  crash. 
Black  care  quits  not  the  brazen  trireme  and  sits  tight  behind  the 
flying  horseman.     Study  how  to  pass  your  life  most  happily; 


The  Admonitions  of  Horace  li 

whether  by  seeking  honors,  or  a  retired  path  and  a  way  of  life 
unnoticed.  To  wonder  at  nothing  is  about  the  only  thing,  my 
friend,  which  can  make  a  man  happy  and  keep  him  so.  The 
wise  man  is  a  fool,  the  just  man  unjust,  if  he  follow  virtue  fur- 
ther than  is  sufficient. 

Counsel  to  the  Young.  Listen  to  wise  counsel,  young 
LoUius,  and  while  the  blood  is  clear  commit  yourself  to  good 
courses.  The  jar  v^l  long  preserve  the  odor  of  the  wine  with 
which  it  has  been  saturated.  Brave  men  are  bom  of  brave 
men ;  the  fierce  eagle  does  not  beget  the  unwarlike  dove.  But 
education  brings  out  the  innate  talent  and  culture  strengthens 
the  soul.  There  is  no  man  so  savage  that  he  cannot  be  soft- 
ened if  he  lend  to  his  teacher  an  attentive  ear.  Govern  the 
temper,  for  unless  it  obeys,  it  commands.  Let  young  men 
mould  themselves  in  rough  trsuning,  to  endure  hardships,  to  be 
fierce  horsemen,  terrible  with  their  lances  to  the  foes  of  Rome. 
It  is  a  sweet  and  seemly  thing  to  die  for  one's  country;  and 
pitiless  death  overtakes  also  the  coward  youth  who  flees. 

Content.  See  that  your  lot  is  fitted  to  your  character,  and 
long  not  for  things  you  would  not  know  how  to  enjoy.  A 
modest  life  suits  a  modest  talent.  The  more  a  man  denies  him- 
self, the  more  he  will  receive  from  Heaven;  its  doors  are  open 
to  those  who  follow  in  content  the  path  of  Virtue. 

To-day  and  To-morrow.  Enjoy  the  present  and  quite  dis- 
trust the  morrow.  The  wise  gods  keep  in  Caligian  darkness 
the  events  of  the  future,  and  smile  at  mortals  who  would  look 
beyond.  Whatever  of  pleasant  days  Fortune  shall  give  you 
count  as  so  much  gain.  He  will  be  master  of  himself  and  glad, 
who  has  the  power  to  say  each  day,  "I  have  lived."  To-mor- 
row great  Jove  may  overspread  the  sky  with  clouds ;  but  he 
can  not  take  from  me  what  I've  enjoyed.  The  years  fly  by,  O 
Postumus,  and  even  piety  brings  no  check  to  wrinkles  or  old 
age.     Day  displaces  day  and  new  moons  hasten  onward  but  to 


///  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

fade.     Pale  death  knocks  with  equal  foot  at  the  hut  of  the  pauper 
and  the  palace  of  the  king. 

Temperance.  Scorn  not  in  your  youth  delighthil  loves  and 
dances.  Pile  the  logs  on  the  fire,  O  Thaliarchus.  bring  out  the 
better  wine;  and  leave  the  rest  to  the  gods.  It  is  sweet  peril 
to  follow  Bacchus,  who  binds  his  brows  with  the  green  vine 
leaves,  who  discloses  the  deep  designs  of  the  wise,  who  brings 
back  hope  and  strength  to  the  troubled,  and  gives  to  the  poor 
man  horns  of  might.  For  them  that  drink  not  Heaven  makes 
all  things  difficult.  But  keep  the  temperate  lord  of  wine  far 
from  noisy  brawls,  for  Bacchus  is  the  soul  of  peace  as  well  as 
war;  and  thirst  turns  bitter  if  indulged  without  restraint. 

Country  Life.  Blest  is  the  man  who  far  from  business  tills 
his  farm  with  the  paternal  oxen.  There  is  no  place  which  sur- 
passes the  peaceful  country  ;  where  no  care  distracts  the  slum- 
bers; where  the  season  is  mild  and  a  refreshing  breeze  allays 
the  stinging  sun;  where  the  meadows  are  fairer  than  Libyan 
Mosaics;  where  the  limpid  stream  dances  along  its  winding  bed 
and  the  home  surveys  a  length  of  fields. 

Friendship.  Fill  the  shining  tankard,  O,  Pompey,  comrade 
in  troubled  days;  one  may  rave  a  little  when  a  firiend's 
regained.  Would  that  one  might,  like  a  lover,  either  see  not 
the  blemishes  of  a  friend,  or  else  be  charmed  by  them ;  sucK 
charity  would  make  of  firiendship  a  thing  more  noble  than  love. 
I  will  sing  of  my  friends  nothing  small,  and  in  no  mortal  measure 
chant  their  praise. 

Love.  Love  is  as  silly  as  a  childish  game ;  it  means  war, 
then  peace ;  it  is  changeable  as  the  weather ;  it  is  quite  beyond 
regulation  or  philosophy.  Add  blood  to  fire  and  stir  up  with 
a  sword, — this  is  Love. 

Religious  Observance.  The  shadow  of  ancestral  crimes 
will  fall  on  you,  O  Romans,  until  you  repair  the  temples, 
rebuild  the  shrines  and  restore  the  statues  of  the  gods  blackened 


"Nam  cur 
Quae  laedunt  oculum,  festinas  demere;  si  quid  ' 
Est  animum,  differs  curandi  tempus  in  annum!*' 

Epist.  I,  2. 

How  strange  is  this!   if  ought  the  eye  offends, 
You  straight  remove  it  and  the  anguish  ends; 
If  ought  corrodes  the  mind,  some  slight  pretence 
Serves  to  protract  the  cure  a  twelvemonth  hence. 


///  Horace  :  Quintus  Horaiius  Flaccus 

fade.      Pale  death  knocks  with  equal  foot  at  the  hut  of  the  pauper 
and  the  palace  of  the  king. 

Temperance.  Scorn  not  in  your  youth  delightful  loves  and 
dances.  Pile  the  logs  on  the  fire,  O  Thaliarchus,  bring  out  the 
better  wine;  and  leave  the  rest  to  the  gods.  It  is  sweet  peril 
to  follow  Bacchus,  who  binds  his  brows  with  the  green  vine 
leaves,  who  discloses  the  deep  designs  of  the  wise,  who  brings 
back  hope  and  strength  to  the  troubled,  and  gives  to  the  poor 
man  horns  of  might.  For  them  that  drink  not  Heaven  makes 
all  things  difficult.  But  keep  the  temperate  lord  of  wine  far 
from  noisy  brawls,  for  Bacchus  is  the  soul  of  peace  as  well  as 
war ;  and  thirst  turns  bitter  if  indulged  without  restraint. 

Country  Life.  Blest  is  the  man  who  far  from  business  tills 
his  farm  with  the  paternal  oxen.  There  is  no  place  which  sur- 
passes the  peaceful  country  ;  where  no  care  distracts  the  slum- 
bers; where  the  season  is  mild  and  a  refreshing  breeze  allays 
the  stinging  sun;  where  the  meadows  are  fairer  than  Libyan 
Mosaics;  where  the  limpid  stream  dances  along  its  winding  bed 
and  the  home  surveys  a  length  of  fields. 

Friendship.  Fill  the  shining  tankard,  O,  Pompey,  comrade 
in  troubled  days;  one  may  rave  a  little  when  a  hiend's 
regained.  Would  that  one  might,  like  a  lover,  either  see  not 
the  blemishes  of  a  friend,  or  else  be  charmed  by  them ;  such 
charity  would  make  of  friendship  a  thing  more  noble  than  love. 
I  will  sing  of  my  friends  nothing  small,  and  in  no  mortal  measure 
chant  their  praise. 

Love.  Love  is  as  silly  as  a  childish  game ;  it  means  war, 
then  peace ;  it  is  changeable  as  the  weather ;  it  is  quite  beyond 
regulation  or  philosophy.  Add  blood  to  fire  and  stir  up  with 
a  sword, — this  is  Love. 

Religious  Observance.  The  shadow  of  ancestral  crimes 
will  fall  on  you,  O  Romans,  until  you  repair  the  temples, 
rebuild  the  shrines  and  restore  the  statues  of  the  gods  blackened 


"Nam  cur 
Quae  laedunt  oculum,  festlnas  demere;  si  quid 
Est  animum,  differs  curandi  tempus  in  annum!* 

Epist.  I,  2. 


How  strange  is  this!    if  ought  the  eye  offends. 
You  straight  remove  it  and  the  anguish  ends; 
If  ought  corrodes  the  mind,  some  slight  pretence 
Serves  to  protract  the  cure  a  twelvemonth  hence. 


The  Admonitions  of  Horace  liii 

with  smoke.  It  is  because  you  own  yourselves  lower  than  the 
gods,  that  you  rule  the  world.  From  them  is  every  beginning 
and  to  them  we  ascribe  every  end.  The  wronged  gods  have 
sent  us  many  woes.  I  have  been  a  scant  worshipper,  but  I 
retrace  my  steps  and  follow  the  course  1  had  forsaken.  God 
brings  what  is  hidden  into  light  and  changes  the  highest  to  the 
lowest ;  he  is  ruler  over  kings  and  shakes  the  universe  with  his 
nod.  With  the  same  power  he  smooths  the  sea  and  tosses  the 
trees  in  the  winds.  Yet, — 1  have  learned  that  the  gods  sit 
above  us  securely,  and  if  nature  causes  anything  wonderful  to 
happen,  they  do  not  send  it  down  from  the  roof  of  Heaven. 

Riches.  Boundless  riches  will  not  keep  the  mind  from  fear 
or  the  head  from  the  snare  of  death.  There  is  no  gloss  to 
buried  gold,  it  has  no  value  except  in  honorable  use.  The 
covetous  should  have  the  largest  dose  of  the  medicine  for  mad- 
ness. Numicius  the  miser  was  so  rich  that  he  could  not  count 
his  gold  and  had  to  measure  it  like  grain ;  and  so  mean  he  lived 
like  a  slave ;  yet  one  night  his  mistress  cleft  him  through  with 
an  ax.  It  is  the  same  whether  you  present  all  your  substance 
to  a  greedy  gulf  or  never  use  your  savings.  You  can  pay 
court  to  the  rich ;  and  if  it  will  do  good  to  yourself  or  your 
family,  go  to  the  rich  man's  dinner.  If  Diogenes  knew  how  to 
associate  with  princes  he  would  despise  his  vegetables.  But 
one  need  not  be  obsequious.  Freedom  and  poverty  are  better 
than  slavery  and  riches.  Gluttony  drags  the  soul  into  the  mire. 
If  you  indulge  your  lust  invade  not  the  home.  Avoid  envy, 
Sicilian  tyrants  never  invented  a  worse  torture. 

Virtue.  Men  work  harder  to  accomplish  evil  deeds  than  to 
do  good.  They  worry  over  their  bodies  more  than  over  their 
souls.  If  you  have  a  sore  eye,  you  run  to  an  oculist ;  if  your 
mind  is  wrong  you  put  off  the  cure.  If  you  are  not  content, 
your  soul  is  the  thing  at  fault.  It  is  the  sky,  not  the  mind,  they 
change  who  speed  across  the  main.  Who  ever  fled  his 
country, — and  himself  as  well  ?     Give  up  your  toys  to  study 


liv 


Horace :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 


virtue,  that  you  may  learn  to  live  aright.  Avoid  doing  wrong, 
not  for  fear  of  punishment,  but  for  love  of  virtue.  There  are 
hypocrites  who  pray  aloud  to  Apollo  in  the  Temple,  but  at  the 
same  time  whisper  a  prayer  to  the  goddess  of  theft  for  protec- 
tion. The  upright  man  and  fixed  of  purpose  is  not  shaken  by 
public  clamor  or  moved  by  imperious  tyrants  or  the  mighty 
hand  of  thundering  Jove.  Virtue  opens  heaven  to  her  followers 
and  with  soaring  wing  spurns  the  vulgar  rabble  and  the  misty 
earth.  You  begin  to  be  virtuous  when  you  avoid  vice,  and 
you  begin  to  be  wise  when  you  cease  to  be  foolish.  The 
Roman  citizens  say:  "Gold  first  then  virtue;"  but  the  boys  at 
the  games  say:  "If  you  act  aright  you  will  be  a  king."  The 
children's  ditty  is  better  than  the  law  of  the  market  place.  Be 
this  your  wall  of  brass :  to  feel  no  guilt  within,  no  fault  to  turn 
you  pale.  The  virtuous  man  needs  no  bows  and  arrows  to 
preserve  him  from  his  enemies,  for  a  god  protects  him.  Our 
country  and  our  friends  alike  expect  to  find  in  us  love  for  our 
parents,  brothers  and  guests,  and  right  service  as  public  men. 

C.  L.  D. 


I 


i« 


rr 


TO  HIS  FRIENDS:   URGING  THE  ROMAN 
YOUTH  TO  VIRTUE 

Rome!  teach  thine  offspring  to  sustain 
Stern  poverty:  to  wield  the  spear, 

To  spur  the  war-horse  o'er  the  plain, 
And  smite  the  Parthian  foe  with  fear : 

To  watch  beneath  the  frosty  skies ; 

To  face  the  tempest,  and  endure; 
The  bed  and  banquet  to  despise. 

In  doubt  and  danger  still  secure. 

The  royal  maid,  the  princely  dame. 
Shall  mark  him  from  the  rampart  high. 

Shall  track  his  course  thro*  blood  and  flame. 
And  thus  in  faltering  accents  sigh : — 

"  My  King,  my  gracious  Lord,  forbear 
To  brave  yon  warrior's  fatal  wrath ; 

Untrained  to  warlike  arms,  beware. 
Nor  cross  the  raging  lion's  path." 

Blessed  who  for  his  country  dies — 

Blessed  and  honoured !     Pitiless  Death 

Spares  not  the  coward  slave  who  flies. 
The  trembling  limbs,  the  panting  breath. 

Virtue  self-centered,  fearless,  free. 
Shines  with  a  lustre  all  her  own, 

Nor  takes,  nor  yields,  her  dignity 
When  fickle  nations  smile  or  frown; 


Horace :  Quintus  Horaiius  Flaccus 

Through  realms  unknown  she  wings  her  flight, 

Spuming  the  sordid  clay  beneath, 
And  lifts  into  celestial  light 

The  spirit  that  has  conquered  death. 

Silence  and  secrecy,  not  less 

The  Gods  reward :  never  may  he 

Who  dares  their  mandates  to  transgress 
Revealing  Ceres'  mystery 

Abide  beneath  my  roof,  or  steer 

My  fragile  shallop  o*er  the  main; 
Jove  hurls  his  bolts,  by  law  severe. 

Alike  on  guiltless  and  profane. 

Justice  with  silent  footstep  slow, 
With  steadfast  eye,  but  halting  gait. 

The  felon  tracks,  and  on  his  brow 
Stamps  the  remorseless  doom  of  Fate. 

Ode  III,  2     De  Vere 


I    I 


Dulce  et  decorum  est  pro  patria  mori. 

It  is  sweet  and  glorious  to  die  for  our  country. 

THE  SPEECH  OF  JUNO. 

This  Ode  was  written  shortly  after  Augustus  had  been  de- 
clared Emperor,  A.  U.  C.  727,  when  Horace  was  38.  It  is 
sometimes  called  "The  Speech  of  Juno,"— or  "  The  Apotheosis 
of  Romulus". 

After  a  prelude  the  Poet  introduces  an  assembly  of  the  gods 
before  whom  Romulus  appears  and  asks  for  a  seat  among  the 
Immortals.  Juno,  Troy's  old  enemy,  rises  and  makes  a  speech 
declaring  the  wickedness  of  the  Trojans  and  the  greatness  of 
Rome,  and  asserts  that  it  will  last  as  long  as  Roman  virtues  last, 
and  as  long  as  the  Capitol  remains  in  Italy. 


Poems  of  Patriotism  5 

A  plan  for  removing  the  Capitol  had  been  discussed  at  Rome 
during  the  troubled  times  previous  to  and  following  Caesar's 
death.  One  purpose  of  the  Ode  is  thought  to  be  to  protest 
against  this  plan. 

The  righteous  man,  of  purpose  fixed  and  strong. 

Scorns  the  depraved  commands 
Of  angry  Faction  clamouring  for  wrong. 
Nor  fears  the  Despot's  frown.     Not  Auster*s  roar 
Whitening  the  restless  wave  on  Adria's  shore. 

Not  the  red  thunder  hurled 

From  Jove's  avenging  hands 
Can  shake  his  solid  will.     Unmoved  he  stands 
Erect  amid  the  ruins  of  a  world. 

Thus  rose  Alcides  to  the  flaming  skies : 

Thus  Leda's  son  to  those  Divine  abodes 

Where,  couched  among  th'  Immortals,  Caesar  lies 

Drinking  with  purpled  lip  the  nectar  of  the  Gods. 

Thus  Bacchus  clomb  to  Jove's  Olympian  throne 

Drawn  by  wild  tigers,  ivy  garlanded : 

Thus,  strong  and  true,  Rome's  mighty  founder  sped, 

Wafted  by  steeds  of  Mars  to  Heaven,  not  Acheron. 

He  claimed  a  throne  among  the  Gods.     They  sate 
Silent ;  then  Juno  rose,  "  Troy  met  her  fate. 
Her  God-built  walls  down-crumbled  into  dust 
By  a  strange  woman  and  a  judge  unjust ; 
Condemned  by  me  and  by  Minerva's  hate 
Since  first  that  King,  false  to  his  kingly  word, 
Abjured  his  oath,  withheld  the  pledged  reward. 

"  Where  now  the  glittering  grace  that  shone 
From  Paris  on  th'  adulterous  Queen? 


: 


6  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Where  now  the  lustrous  sheen 
Sparkling  from  those  false  eyes  her  faithless  heart  that 
won? 
Where  Priam's  perjured  house,  Hector  its  stay  ? — 
How  oft  his  arm  triumphant  broke  the  Greek  array ! 

"  Dead  is  that  ten  years'  war 
Kindled  by  feuds  of  ours :  its  sound  is  heard  no  more. 
No  more  my  anger  rages :  I  resign 
To  Mars  this  scion  of  a  hated  line, 
Son    of    Troy's     Priestess.     Founder     of    great 

Rome 
Enter,  'mong  peaceful  Gods  to  find  a  home 
And    quaff  'mid     starbright    skies    the    nectar    juice 
Divine. 

"  So  long  as  'twixt  his  Rome  and  llion  roll 

The  billows  of  a  boundless  main 
Let  Trojan  exiles  unmolested  reign; 
Let  Rome's  proud  Capitol 
Unshaken  stand,  while  herds  insulting  roam 
O'er  Priam's  grave,  and  while  in  Paris'  tomb 
Wolves  hide  their  cubs.     So  long 
Shall  Roman  valour,  steadfast,  strong. 
Give  laws  to  Media's  conquered  hosts, 
And  rule  the  Midland  Ocean's  coasts. 
And  those  far  lands  where  fertile  cornfields  smile 
Fed  by  the  waters  of  the  swelling  Nile. 

"  Great  Nation !  that  canst  spurn 

The  Gold  that  in  Earth's  bosom  hidden  lies 


Poems  of  Patriotism  7 

(Wisely  there  hid)  unlike  the  base  who  turn 

To  uses  vile  of  sordid  avarice 

The  temple's  spoil,  fearless  your  hosts  send  forth 
To  India's  sun-scorched  wastes,  or  the  cloud-mantled 
North. 

"  Strong  sons  of  Rome,  to  you  my  law  1  speak. 

Trust  not  your  fortunes  or  your  strength ;  nor  seek. 

Blinded  by  filial  piety,  once  more 

The  sentenced  walls  of  llion  to  restore. 

If  e'er  again  'neath  some  ill-omened  star 

She  rises,  I,  Jove's  sister,  I,  his  wife, 

'Gainst  her  will  lead  the  armies  of  my  war. 

Closing  in  new-lit  flames  her  new-lit  life. 

Should  Phoebus  thrice  rebuild  each  wall,  each  gate. 
Thrice  shall  my  Argives  raze  them  to  the  plain, 

Each  widow  thrice,  captive  and  desolate. 

Bewail  her  orphaned  babes,  her  husband  slain." 

Cease,  sportive  Lyre ! — not  thine 
Mated  with  Gods  their  counsels  to  explore. 
Fold,  Muse  of  mine,  those  wings  too  frail  to  soar. 
Nor  mock  with  mortal  lips  the  voice  Divine. 

Ode  III  3     De  Vert 


'Justum  et  ienacem  propositi  virum,  non  Mente  quatit  solida, 
,     .     Nee  fulminantis  magna  manus  Jovis ;" 

The  upright  man  who's  steady  to  his  Trust 
inflexible  to  111  and  obstinately  just 
Not  e'en  the  red  right  arm  of  thundering  Jove 
The  stubborn  virtue  of  his  soul  can  move. 


i 


I 


i 


8 


Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 


PART  OF  THE  SAME  ODE.    ANOTHER 

VERSION 

The  man  I  of  firm  and  noble  soul 
No  factious  clamours  can  controul; 
No  threatening  tyrant's  darkling  brow 

Can  swerve  him  from  his  just  intent : 
Gales  the  warring,  waves  which  plough, 

By  Auster  on  the  billows  spent, 
To  curb  the  Adriatic  main, 
Would  awe  his  fix'd,  determined  mind  in  vain. 

Aye,  and  the  red  right  arm  of  Jove, 
Hurtling  his  lightnings  from  above. 
With  all  his  terrors  there  unfurFd, 

He  would,  unmov'd,  unaw*d,  behold ; 
.  The  flames  of  an  expiring  world, 
.  j^ain  in  crashing  chaos  rolFd, 
I  Jn  vast  promiscuous  ruin  hurl'd, 
.  Might  light  his  glorious  funeral  pile: 
Still  dauntless  *midst  the  wreck  of  earth  he'd  smile. 

Ode  III,  3     Bynon 

TO  AUGUSTUS. 

A  proposal  was  made  to  the  Senate  to  ransom  the .  Roman 
soldiers  who  had  been  taken  captive  by  the  Parthians. .  .Horace 
opposes  this.  He  introduces  a  speech  by  Regulus  and  citea  the 
conduct  of  that  noble,  who  gave  up  his  life  for  his  country. 
The  Ode  is  ranked  among  Horace's  best;  but  does  not  make 
a  ready  appeal  to  the  modem  reader. 

Jove  rules  the  skies,  his  thunder  wielding: 
Augustus  Caesar,  thou  on  earth  shalt.be 


AUGUSTUS 

From  an  Antique   Bust 


8 


Horace :  Quintas  Horatius  Flaccus 


PART  OF  THE  SAME  ODE.  ANOTHER 

VERSION 

The  man  of  firm  and  noble  soul 
No  factious  clamours  can  controul; 
No  threatening  tyrant's  darkling  brow 

Can  swerve  him  from  his  just  intent : 
Gales  the  warring  waves  which  plough, 

By  Auster  on  the  billows  spent, 
To  curb  the  Adriatic  main, 
Would  awe  his  fix'd,  determined  mind  in  vain. 

Aye<  and  the  red  right  arm  of  Jove, 
Hurtling  his  lightnings  from  above. 
With  all  his  terrors  there  unfurFd, 
He  would,  unmov'd,  unaw'd,  behold ; 
-  The  flames  of  an  expiring  world, 
.  Again  in  crashing  chaos  roll'd, 
1  In  vast  promiscuous  ruin  hurPd, 
Might  light  his  glorious  funeral  pile : 
Still  dauntless  'midst  the  wreck  of  earth  he*d  smiJe. 

Ode  III,  3     Bynon 

TO  AUGUSTUS. 

A  proposal  was  made  to  the  Senate  to  ransom  the .  Roman 
soldiers  who  had  been  taken  captive  by  the  Parthians. .  .Horace 
opposes  this.  He  introduces  a  speech  by  Regulus  and  cites  the 
conduct  of  that  noble,  who  gave  up  his  life  for  his  country. 
The  Ode  is  ranked  among  Horace's  best;  but  does  not  make 
a  ready  appeal  to  the  modern  reader. 

Jove  rules  the  skies,  his  thunder  wielding : 
Augustus  Caesar,  thou  on  earth  shaltbe 


AUGUSTUS 
From   an   Antique   Bust 


Poems  of  Patriotism  9 

Enthroned  a  present  Deity ; 
Britons  and   Parthian   hordes   to    Rome  their  proud 
necks  yielding. 

Woe  to  the  Senate  that  endures  to  see 

(O  fire  extinct  of  old  nobility !) 

The  soldier  dead  to  honour  and  to  pride 

Ingloriously  abide 
Grey-headed  mate  of  a  Barbarian  bride, 
Freeman  of  Rome  beneath  a  Median  King : 

Woe  to  the  land  that  fears  to  fling 

Its  curse,  not  ransom,  to  the  slave 

Forgetful  of  the  shield  of  Mars, 

Of  Vesta's  unextinguished  flame, 

Of  Roman  garb,  of  Roman  name ; 

The  base  unpitied  slave  who  dares 

From  Rome  his  forfeit  life  to  crave : 

in  vain ; — Immortal  Jove  still  reigns  on  high : 

Still  breathes  in  Roman  hearts  the  Spirit  of  Liberty. 

With  warning  voice  of  stem  rebuke 

Thus  Regulus  the  Senate  shook : 

He  saw,  prophetic,  in  far  days  to  come, 

The  heart  corrupt,  and  future  doom  of  Rome. 

"  These  eyes, "  he  cried,  "  these  eyes  have  seen 

Unbloodied  swords  from  warriors  torn. 

And  Roman  standards  nailed  in  scorn 

On  Punic  shrines  obscene ; 

Have  seen  the  hands  of  freeborn  men 

Wrenched  back  and  bound ;  th'  unguarded  gate ; 


Mi^BxiiMiiMiiaiiWHiOiii 


I 


{ 


II! 


/  0  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

And  fields  our  war  laid  desolate 
By  Romans  tilled  again. 

"  What !  will  the  gold-enfranchised  slave 
Return  more  loyal  and  more  brave? 

Ye  heap  but  loss  on  crime! 
The  wool  that  Cretan  dyes  disdain 
Can  ne'er  its  virgin  hue  regain : 
And  valour  fallen  and  disgraced 
Revives  not  in  a  coward  breast 

Its  energy  sublime. 

"The  stag  released  from  hunter's  toils 
From  the  dread  sight  of  man  recoils. 
Is  he  more  brave  than  when  of  old 
He  ranged  his  forest  free?     Behold 
in  him  your  soldier !      He  has  knelt 
To  faithless  foes ;  he  too  has  felt 
The  knotted  cord;  and  crouched  beneath 
Fear,  not  of  shame,  but  death. 

"  He  sued  for  peace  tho'  vowed  to  war : 
Will  such  men,  girt  in  arms  once  more. 
Dash  headlong  on  the  Punic  shore? 
No !  they  will  buy  their  craven  lives 
With  Punic  scorn  and  Punic  gyves. 
O  mighty  Carthage,  rearing  high 
Thy  fame  upon  our  infamy, 
A  city,  aye,  an  empire  built 
On  Roman  ruins,  Roman  guilt ! " 

From  the  chaste  kiss,  and  wild  embrace 
Of  wife  and  babes  he  turned  his  face, 


Poems  of  Patriotism  1 1 

A  man  self-doomed  to  die; 
Then  bent  his  manly  brow,  in  scorn. 
Resolved,  relentless,  sad,  but  stern, 

To  earth,  all  silently; 
Till  counsel  never  heard  before 
Had  nerved  each  wavering  Senator; 
Till  flushed  each  cheek  with  patriot  shame. 
And  surging  rose  the  loud  acclaim; — 
Then,  from  his  weeping  friends,  in  haste. 
To  exile  and  to  death  he  passed. 

He  knew  the  tortures  that  Barbaric  hate 

Had  stored  for  him.     Exulting  in  his  fate 
With  kindly  hand  he  waved  away 
The  crowds  that  strove  his  course  to  stay. 

He  passed  from  all,  as  when  in  days  of  yore. 

His  judgment  given,  thro'  client  throngs  he  pressed 
In  glad  Venafrian  fields  to  seek  his  rest, 

Or  Greek  Tarentum  on  the  Southern  shore. 

Ode  III,  5     De  Vere 

TO    THE    ROMANS 

This  Ode  is  an  eloquent  and  bitter  denunciation  of  the  luxury 
and  degeneracy  of  the  age,  which  Horace  ascribes  to  the 
neglect  of  religion.     He  refers  to  the  heredity  of  degeneration. 

The  shadow  of  ancestral  guilt  shall  fall, 

Roman !  on  thee  and  thine. 
Till  thou  rebuild'st  the  temple's  crumbling  wall 

And  rear' St  again  within  the  shrine 
Those  marble  Gods  smoke-stained,  those  effigies  Divine. 


12  Horace:  Quintus  H or  alius  Flaccus 

Jove  gives  us  power  to  rule  while  we  confess 
His  rule  supreme  o'er  all.     *Twas  thus  we  rose: 
As  justly  shall  they  fall  who  dare  transgress 
That  law  eterne.     Innumerable  woes 
Wronged  Gods  have  sent  us.    Twice  Monaeses*  spear 
Shattered  our  ill-starred  legions'  mad  career, 
And  twice  Barbarians  laughed  in  scorn 
When  flashed  from  Parthian  torques  rich  gems  from 
Romans  torn; 

Fleets  manned  by  Egypt's  dusky  hosts 

Shadowed  our  Latian  coasts : 
Once,  rent  by  factious  rage,  Rome  naked  lay 
Before  the  Dacians'  shafts  an  unresisting  prey. 

Fertile  of  sin  a  race  accurst 

Defiled  the  sacred  hearth  and  home ; 

From  that  foul  source  the  tempest  burst 

That  sapped  the  strength  of  Rome. 
The  arts  depraved  of  guilty  life 
Corrupt  the  maid :  the  faithless  wife 
Betrays  her  own,  her  husband's  fame ; — 
Falser  than  all  he  traffics  in  her  shame ! 

Not  from  such  parents  spring 

Soldiers  like  those  who  drave 
Afric's  fierce  son  o'er  the  blood-darkened  wave. — 
Who  smote  great  Pyrrhus  and  the  Syrian  King. 

Such  were  the  men  of  old,  a  hardy  brood. 
Trained  from  their  youth  to  wield  the  Sabine  spade. 
To  fetch  the  fagot  from  the  neighbouring  wood 
Obedient  to  a  mother's  voice  severe. 


"Damnosa  quid  non   imminuit  dies! 
Aetas  parentum,  pejor  avis,  tulit 
Nos  nequiores,  mox  daturos, 
Progeniem  viliosiorcm." 

Ode  III.  6. 

Time  alters  all  things  in  his  pace. 
Each  Century  new  Vices  owns; 
Our  Fathers  bore  an  impious  Race 
And  we  shall  have  more  wicked  Scms. 


12  Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Jove  gives  us  power  to  rule  while  we  confess 
His  rule  supreme  o'er  all.     *Twas  thus  we  rose: 
As  justly  shall  they  fall  who  dare  transgress 
That  law  eterne.     Innumerable  woes 
Wronged  Gods  have  sent  us.    Twice  Monaeses*  spear 
Shattered  our  ill-starred  legions'  mad  career, 
And  twice  Barbarians  laughed  in  scorn 
When  flashed  from  Parthian  torques  rich  gems  from 
Romans  torn; 

Fleets  manned  by  Egypt's  dusky  hosts 

Shadowed  our  Latian  coasts : 
Once,  rent  by  factious  rage,  Rome  naked  lay 
Before  the  Dacians'  shafts  an  unresisting  prey. 

Fertile  of  sin  a  race  accurst 

Defiled  the  sacred  hearth  and  home ; 

From  that  foul  source  the  tempest  burst 

That  sapped  the  strength  of  Rome. 
The  arts  depraved  of  guilty  life 
Corrupt  the  maid :  the  faithless  wife 
Betrays  her  own,  her  husband's  fame; — 
Falser  than  all  he  traffics  in  her  shame ! 

Not  from  such  parents  spring 

Soldiers  like  those  who  drave 
Afric's  fierce  son  o'er  the  blood-darkened  wave, — 
Who  smote  great  Pyrrhus  and  the  Syrian  King. 

Such  were  the  men  of  old,  a  hardy  brood. 
Trained  from  their  youth  to  wield  the  Sabine  spade, 
To  fetch  the  fagot  from  the  neighbouring  wood 
Obedient  to  a  mother's  voice  severe, 


"Damnosa  quid  non   imminuit  dies! 
Aetas  parentum,  pejor  avis,  tulit 
Nos  nequiores,  mox  daturos, 
Progeniem   vitiosiorem." 

Ode  III,  6. 

Time  alters  all  things  in  his  pace. 
Each  Century  new  Vices  owns; 
Our  Fathers  bore  an  impious  Race 
And  we  shall  have  more  wicked  Sons. 


Poems  of  Patriotism  13 

What  time  the  sun 
Threw  from  far-distant  hills  a  lengthened  shade, 
Lifting  the  yoke  from  the  o'er-laboured  steer, 
Saying,  as  sank  his  orb,  "  Rejoice,  thy  task  is  done." 

An  age  degenerate  and  base 
Piles,  as  it  wastes,  disgrace  upon  disgrace. 

We,  nursed  in  crime,  in  folly  bred, 
Transmit  our  fathers*  taint,  the  subtle  poison  spread, 

Beget  a  progeny  still  worse. 
And  heap  on  endless  years  an  ever-deepening  curse. 

Ode  III.  6     De  Vere 


'*  Damnosa  quid  non,  imminuit  dies?'* 

How  Time  doth  in  its  flight  debase 
Whale'er  it  finds ! 

*'  Aeias  parentum,  peior  avis,  tulit 
Nos  nequiores,  mox  daiuros 
Progeniem  vitiosiorem.** 

Our  fathers*  race. 
More  deeply  versed  in  ill 
Than  were  their  sires,  hath  borne  us  yet 
More  wicked,  duly  to  beget 
A  race  more  vicious  still. 


AGAINST    THE    TURBULENCE    AND    DEGEN- 
ERACY OF  THE  PEOPLE 

This  Ode  is  one  of  serious  and  impassioned  protest  agsunst 
the  turbulence  and  license  of  the  People,  and  the  covetous- 
ness  and  the  degeneracy  of  the  Rich.  The  first  three  stanzas, 
which  we  omit,  deal  with  the  familiar  idea  that  money  can  not 
secure  one  from  death  and  that  they  have  a  better  lot  who 
lead  the  pastoral  life  and  possess  the  homely  virtues  of  kindness, 
charity  and  domestic  love.  The  poet  then  appeals  to  the 
Roman  people: 


X 


14  Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Breathes  there  a  Patriot  brave  and  strong 
Would  right  his  erring  country's  wrong, 
Would  heal  her  wounds,  and  quell  her  rage? 
Let  him  with  noble  daring  first 
Curb  Faction's  tyranny  accurst! 

So  may  some  future  age 
Grave  on  his  bust  with  pious  hand 
"  The  Father  of  his  native  land : " 
Virtue  yet  living  we  despise, 
Adore  it  lost,  and  vanished  from  our  eyes. 

Cease,  idle  wail! 
The  sin  unpunished,  what  can  sighs  avail? 
How  vain  the  laws  by  man  ordained 
If  Virtue's  law  be  unsustained! 
A  second  sin  is  yours!     The  sand 
Of  Araby,  Gaetulia's  sun-scorched  land. 
The  desolate  realms  of  Hyperborean  ice. 
Call  with  one  voice  to  wrinkled  Avarice: 
He  hears:  he  fears  nor  toil,  nor  sword,  nor  sea. 
He  shrinks  from  no  disgrace  but  virtuous  poverty. 


Forth!  'mid  a  shouting  nation  bring 

Your  precious  gems,  your  wealth  untold ; 
Into  the  seas,  or  Temple,  fling 
Your  vile  unprofitable  gold. 
Romans!     Repent,  and  from  within 
Eradicate  your  dariing  sin: 
Repent !  and  from  your  bosom  tear 
The  sordid  shame  that  festers  there. 


"Virtus,  repulsae  nescia  sordidae, 
Intaminatis  fulget  honoribus." 

Ode  III,  2. 

True  Virtue  thus  not  knowing  base  Retreat 
With  pure  untainted  Honors  shineth  fair. 


14  Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Breathes  there  a  Patriot  brave  and  strong 
Would  right  his  erring  country's  wrong, 
Would  heal  her  wounds,  and  quell  her  rage? 
Let  him  with  noble  daring  first 
Curb  Faction's  tyranny  accurst! 

So  may  some  future  age 
Grave  on  his  bust  with  pious  hand 
"  The  Father  of  his  native  land : " 
Virtue  yet  living  we  despise, 
Adore  it  lost,  and  vanished  from  our  eyes. 

Cease,  idle  wail! 
The  sin  unpunished,  what  can  sighs  avail? 
How  vain  the  laws  by  man  ordained 
If  Virtue's  law  be  unsustained! 
A  second  sin  is  yours!     The  sand 
Of  Araby,  Gaetulia's  sun-scorched  land. 
The  desolate  realms  of  Hyperborean  ice, 
Call  with  one  voice  to  wrinkled  Avarice: 
He  hears:  he  fears  nor  toil,  nor  sword,  nor  sea. 
He  shrinks  from  no  disgrace  but  virtuous  poverty. 

Forth!    mid  a  shouting  nation  bring 

Your  precious  gems,  your  wealth  untold ; 
Into  the  seas,  or  Temple,  fling 
Your  vile  unprofitable  gold. 
Romans!      Repent,  and  from  withm 
Eradicate  your  darling  sin: 
Repent !  and  from  your  bosom  tear 
The  sordid  shame  that  festers  there. 


"Virtus,  repulsae  nescia  sordidae, 
Intaminatis  fulget  honoribus." 

Ode  III  2. 

True  Virtue  thus  not  knowing  base  Retreat 
With  pure  untainted  Honors  shineth  fair. 


i 


Poems  of  Patriotism 

Bid  your  degenerate  boys  to  learn 
In  rougher  schools  a  lesson  stern: 


15 


The  high-born  youth  mature  in  vice 

Pursues  his  vain  and  reckless  course, 
Rolls  the  Greek  hoop,  or  throws  the  dice. 

But  shuns  the  chase,  and  dreads  the  horse : 
His  perjured  sire,  with  jealous  care, 
Heaps  riches  for  his  worthless  heir. 
Despised,  disgraced,  supremely  blest 
Cheating  his  partner,  friend  and  guest. 
Uncounted  stores  his  bursting  coffers  fill. 
But  something  unpossessed  is  ever  wanting  still. 

Ode  III,  24     DeVere 


"  Virtutem  incolumem  odimus, 
Suhlatam  ex  oculis  quaerimus  invidi." 

Virtue  yet  living  we  despise, 
Adore  it  lost,  and  vanished  from  our  eyes. 

**Quid  leges  sine  morihus 
Vanae  proficiunt  ?*' 

What  avail  laws  without  Righteousness  ? 


TO  JULUS  ANTONIUS :  IN  PRAISE  OF  PINDAR 

Horace  is  supposed  to  have  written  an  epic  poem,  and  his 
friend  Julus  advises  him  to  celebrate  the  deeds  of  Augustus  in 
the  manner  of  Pindar.  Horace  in  the  present  Ode  replies, 
acclaiming  the  genius  of  the  Greek  poet,  but  saying  that  he  has 
not  Pindar's  talent.  He  suggests  to  Julus  Antonius  to  try  his 
hand  at  singing  Caesar's  praise.  That  part  of  this  Ode  which 
celebrates  Pindar  is,  says  De  Vere,  one  of  the  best  specimens 
of  Horace's  style,  and  De  Vere  has  rendered  it  beautifully. 


/  6  Horace :  Quinius  Horatius  Flaccus 

The  bard  who  Pindar's  lyre  would  emulate 
Like  Icarus  on  waxen  pinions  tries 

To  scale  the  infinite  skies ; 

He  shares  the  boaster's  fate, 
Thro'  blazing  ether  drops,  and  in  mid-ocean  dies. 

As  some  great  river,  issuing  from  the  snows 
Of  peaks  far  distant,  thundering  downward  flows. 
And,  swoln  by  mountain  streams  or  cloud-born  rain 
Pours  its  full  volume  broadening  o'er  the  plain, — 
Such  Pindar's  song. 
To  him,  to  him  of  right  belong 
Apollo's  laurels,  and  to  him  alone ; 

Whether  in  strains  as  yet  unknown 
And  numbers  loosed  from  law  he  flings 
Abroad  his  daring  Dithyrambs,  or  sings 
Of  Gods,  and  Kings  who  by  just  doom  subdued 
The  Centaur  race,  and  quenched  Chimera's  flame  in 

blood. 
Or  grants  to  those  whose  wreathed  forehead  wears 

Victorious  palms  at  Elis  won. 
Wrestler,  or  runner,  athlete,  charioteer, 
A  gift  more  precious  than  the  sculptured  stone. 

One  leaflet  from  his  own  bright  bays, 
A  nation's  worship  and  a  Poet's  praise. 

At  times  in  softer  strain 
Waking  the  lyre  again 
He  bids  the  sweet  and  solemn  chords  to  mourn 
The  bridegroom  from  his  loved  one  torn ; 


Poems  of  Patriotism  17 

His  fearless  heart,  his  spotless  truth, 
The  golden  promise  of  his  youth ; 
From  Orcus  rends  the  expected  prize. 
And  wafts  the  enfranchised  spirit  to  the  skies. 

Large  airs  from  Heaven  with  strength  resistless  fill 
The  wings  of  Dirce's  swan.     Sublime  and  free 

He  cleaves  the  clouds.      I,  like  the  bee 
That  on  the  slope  of  the  Matinian  hill 

Sucks  the  wild  thyme,  laboriously 
By  Tibur's  woods  and  Tibur's  crystal  rill 
The  garnered  sweets  of  Poesy  distill. 

Antonius,  thou  with  bolder  hand 
Shalt  strike  the  harp,  and  Caesar  sing  ascending 
The  Capitol,  beneath  his  strong  yoke  bending 
Bound  to  his  wheels  the  fierce  Sygambrian  band, — 
Caesar  the  laurel-crowned,  the  good,  the  great. 
Gift  of  benignant  Gods,  and  pitying  Fate : 

Shalt  sing  the  public  games  ordained 

For  Caesar  safe,  and  peace  regained, 
The  forum  mute,  and  civil  concord  won. 
I,  if  with  feebler  lips  such  strains  accord. 
Will  shout  aloud  "  All  Hail,  thou  glorious  Sun ! 
Shine  forth  on  Caesar  to  his  Rome  restored ! " 

Hark !  as  he  moved,  the  jubilant  sound 

"  lo  Triumphe "   swells  around 
On  clouds  of  incense  borne  to  summits  temple-crowned. 

Be  thine  large  gifts  of  votive  kine  to  bring : 
Mine  be  a  humbler  offering. 


/  <S  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

A  weanling  that  in  frolic  play 

Wantons  his  youthful  hours  away, 
Tawny;  upon  his  brow  one  spot  snow-white, 
His  horns  like  crescent  moon  thrice  risen   upon  the 

night. 

Ode  IV,  2     De  Vere 


IN    PRAISE    OF    DRUSUS.    STEP-SON    OF 

AUGUSTUS 

"We  have  here,"  says  Davidson,  "an  Ode  which  was  vmtten 
by  the  order  of  Augustus,  and  it  is  evident,  from  the  Grandeur 
and  Nobleness  of  the  Verse,  that  Horace  does  all  in  his  Power 
not  to  fall  short  of  the  Honour  which  that  great  Prince  had 
done  him,  in  laying  this  Command  upon  him.  There  is  none 
of  the  Compositions  in  which  he  has  made  a  nearer  Approach 
to  the  Heighth  and  Majesty  of  Pindar." 

This  is  inflated  praise,  yet  the  poem  is  ranked  high.  It 
seems  to  a  modem  reader  involved  and  stilted,  in  spite  of  its 

notable  passages.  r   i  • 

Drusus  was  a  step-son  of  Augustus,  a  son  of  Livia  and 
descendant  of  Claudius  Nero,  who  defeated  Hasdrubal,  brother 
of  Hannibal,  and  ended  the  Carthaginian  invasion  of  Italy.  As 
a  young  man  of  twenty-three  he  defeated  the  Vindelici,  a 
German  tribe  living  to  the  north  of  Italy.  Hence  this  Ode.  It 
closes  with  a  speech  by  Hannibal,  admitting  the  unconquerable 
spirit  and  strength  of  the  Roman  nation. 

Like  as  the  thunder-bearing  bird 

(On  whom  o'er  all  the  fowls  of  air 
Dominion  was  by  Jove  conferred, 

Because  with  loyal  care 
He  bore  away  to  heaven  young  Ganymede  the  fair). 

Whom  native  vigor  and  the  rush 

Of  youth  have  spurred  to  quit  the  nest. 


Poems  of  Patriotism  19 

And  skies  of  blue  in  springtide's  flush 

Entice  aloft  to  breast 
The  gales  he  feared  before  his  lordly   plumes  were 
drest, 

Now  swooping,  eager  for  his  prey. 

Spreads  havoc  through  the  fluttered  fold, — 

Straight,  fired  by  love  of  food  and  fray. 
In  grapple  fierce  and  bold 

The  struggling  dragons  rends  e*en  in  their  rocky  hold : 

Or  like  the  Hon*s  whelp,  but  now 

Weaned  from  his  tawny  mother's  side, 

By  tender  kidling  on  the  brow 
Of  some  green  slope  espied, 

Whose  unfleshed  teeth  she  knows  will  in  her  blood 
be  dyed ; 

So  dread,  so  terrible  in  war 

Our  noble  Drusus  showed,  when  through 
The  Rhaetian  Alpine  glens  afar 

His  conquering  eagles  flew, 
And  swiftly  the  appalled  Vindelici  overthrew. 

Whence  came  their  custom — in  the  night 

Of  farthest  time  it  flourished  there — 
With  Amazonian  axe  to  fight. 

To  question  I  forbear; 
Nor  anything  to  know,  may  any  mortal  dare; 

But  this  1  know ;  their  hosts,  that  still. 

Where'er  they  came,  victorious  fought, 
In  turn  by  that  young  hero's  skill 


\ 


20  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Revanquished,  have  been  taught 
To  feel  what  marvels  may  of  enterprise  be  wrought. 

By  valiant  heart  and  vigorous  head 

In  home  auspicious  trained  to  power, 
What  by  the  noble  spirit  fed 

In  Nero's  sons  by  our 
Augustus,  who  on  them  a  father's  care  did  shower. 

'Tis  of  the  brave  and  good  alone 

That  good  and  brave  men  are  the  seed ; 

The  virtues  which  their  sires  have  shown, 
Are  found  in  steer  and  steed ; 

Nor  do  the  eagles  fierce  the  gentle  ringdove  breed. 

Yet  training  quickens  power  inborn, 

And  culture  nerves  the  soul  for  fame ; 
But  he  must  live  a  life  of  scorn, 

Who  bears  a  noble  name. 
Yet  blurs  it  with  the  soil  of  infamy  and  shame. 

What  thou,  Rome,  dost  the  Neros  owe. 

Let  dark  Metaurus'  river  say. 
And  Hasdrubal,  thy  vanquished  foe, 

And  that  auspicious  day. 
Which  through  the  scattered  gloom  broke  forth  with 
smiling  ray. 

When  joy  again  to  Latium  came, 

Nor  longer  through  her  towns  at  ease 

The  fatal  Lybian  swept,  like  flame 
Among  the  forest  trees, 

Or  Eurus'  headlong  gust  across  Sicilian  seas. 


Poems  of  Patriotism  21 

Thenceforth,  for  with  success  they  toiled, 
Rome's  youth  in  vigour  waxed  amain, 

And  temples,  ravaged  and  despoiled. 
By  Punic  hordes  profane. 

Upraised  within  their  shrines  beheld  their  gods  again. 

Till  spoke  false  Hannibal  at  length : 

"  Like  stags,  of  ravening  wolves  the  prey. 

Why  rush  to  grapple  with  their  strength, 
From  whom  to  steal  away 

The  loftiest  triumph  is,  they  leave  for  us  to-day? 

"That  race,  inflexible  as  brave, 

From  ilium  quenched  in  flames,  who  bore 
Across  the  wild  Etruscan  wave 

Their  babes,  their  grandsires  hoar. 
And  all  their  sacred  things,  to  the  Ausonian  shore; 

"  Like  oak,  by  sturdy  axes  lopped 

Of  all  its  boughs,  which  once  the  brakes 

Of  shaggy  Algidus  o'ertopped. 
Its  loss  its  glory  makes. 

And  from  the  very  steel  fresh  strength  and  spirit  takes. 

"  Not  Hydra,  cleft  through  all  its  trunk, 
With  fresher  vigour  waxed  and  spread, 

Till  even  Alcides'  spirit  shrunk ; 
Nor  yet  hath  Colchis  dread. 

Or  Echionean  Thebes  more  fatal  monster  bred. 

"  In  ocean  plunge  it,  and  more  bright 

It  rises ;  scatter  it,  and  lo ! 
Its  unscathed  victors  it  will  smite 


22  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

With  direful  overthrow. 
And    Rome's    proud    dames    shall    tell    of    many    a 
routed  foe. 

"  No  messengers  in  boastful  pride 

Shall  I  to  Carthage  send  again; 
Our  every  hope,  it  died,  it  died, 

When  Hasdrubal  was  slain, 
And  with  his  fall  our  name's  all -conquering  star  did 
wane. " 

No  peril,  but  the  Claudian  line 

Will  front  and  master  it,  for  they 
Are  shielded  by  Jove's  grace  divine, 

And  counsels  sage  alway 
Their   hosts  through  war's  rough  paths  successfully 
convey ! 

Ode  IV.  4     Martin 


Poems  of  Patriotism 


23 


** Fortes  creantur  fortibus  et  bonis; 

neque  inbellem  feroces 

Progenerant  aquilae  columbam." 
The  brave  are  bom  of  the  brave  ....  the  fierce  eagle 
does  not  breed  the  peaceful  dove. 

**  Doctrina  sed  vim  promovet  insitam, 
Rectique  cultus  pectora  roborant.** 

Teaching    brings    out    innate   powers,   and    right    discipline 
strengthens  character. 

"  Utcumque  defecere  mores, 
Dedecorant  bene  nata  culpae" 

Whenever   morals   chance  to  fail,   defects   disfigure    minds 
whose  birth  is  good. 

**  Nee  scire  fas  est  omnia.** 
It  is  not  permitted  us  to  know  all  things. 


J 


TO  THE  ROMAN  PEOPLE :   THE   BLESSED 

ISLES 

This  Epode  was  written  when  Horace  was  about  twenly- 
five,  after  the  battle  of  Philippi,  and  his  return  to  Rome.  Tlie 
Republic  had  fallen  and  Augustus  "had  begun  war  against 
Mark  Antony.  The  country  was  threatened  by  foes  without 
and  dissension  within. 

"  Another  age  ground  down  by  civil  strife ; 
Rome  by  her  children  impious  and  accurst, 
Down  trampled  out  of  life." 

Horace  predicts  the  ruin  of  the  nation, 

"Amid  her  streets,  -  her  temples  nigh, — 
The  mountain  wolf  shall  unmolested  lie." 

He  asks  what  shall  be  done,  and  then  invites  the  Roman 
people  to  leave  their  country  and  sail  away  to  the  Blessed 
Isles,  as  did  the  Phocaeans,  to  found  a  new  race  there.  The 
plan  seems  highly  poetic,  and  Scaliger  even  calls  it  absurd ;  but 
doubtless  it  was  meant  to  be  allegorical. 

TTie  Poet  concludes  vnth  a  description  of  the  Blessed  Isles, 
whose  glowing  imagery  and  beauty  was  never  exceeded  in  his 
later  Odes.  Horace  made  his  reputation  by  this  poem.  We 
print  only  the  concluding  description  of  the  Islands,  supposed 
to  be  either  the  Canaries  or  Madeira. 

Forth,  manly  spirits,  womanish  tears  disdain; 
Forsake  th'  Etruscan  shores,  and  dare  the  boundless 
main ! 

Hence  self-devoted  go 

Ye  who  love  honour  best: — 
Visions  of  glory  rush  upon  mine  eyes : 

Prophetic  voices  rise: — 

See,  see  before  us  distant  glow 

Thro'  the  thin  dawn-mists  of  the  West 
Rich  sunlit  plains  and  hill -tops  gemmed  with  snow. 

The  Islands  of  the  Blest ! 


24  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

There,  the  grey  olive,  year  by  year, 
Yields  its  unfailing  fruitage ;  there  the  vine 
Ripens,  unpruned,  its  clusters  into  wine ; 
There  figs,  ungraffed,  their  russet  harvest  grow. 
And  fields  unploughed  their  wealth  on  man  bestow ; 

There  from  the  cavemed  ilex  sere 

Wells  the  wild  honey  trickhng  slow ; 

There  herds  and  flocks  unbidden  bring 

At  eve  their  milky  offering ; 

There  from  the  crag's  embattled  steep 

The  laughing  waters  leap. 

No  wolf  around  the  sheepfold  striding 

With  nightly  howl  the  sleeping  lamb  affrights ; 

No  venomed  snakes  obscurely  gliding 
Sway  the  tall  herbage ;  no  destroying  blights. 
Nor  storm,  nor  flood,  nor  scorching  suns,  despoil, 
Such  is  the  will  of  Jove,  the  teeming  soil. 

Blest  summer  shores,  untrod 

By  Jason  or  the  Colchian  sorceress. 

By  Tyrian  rover,  or  the  wearied  crew 

Of  sage  Ulysses  in  their  dire  distress ! 

Merciful  gift  of  a  relenting  God, 

Home  of  the  homeless,  preordained  for  you ! 
Last  vestige  of  the  age  of  gold. 
Last  refuge  of  the  good  and  bold. 

From  stars  malign,  from  plague  and  tempest  free. 

Far  amid  the  Western  waves  a  secret  Sanctuary ! 

Epode,  XVI     De  Vere 


Poems  of  Patriotism 


25 


THE  SECULAR  HYMN 

Early  in  the  reign  of  Augustus  the  priests  of  the  group  which 
had  long  had  the  direction  of  certain  games  or  festivals, 
announced  that  it  was  the  will  of  the  Gods  that  the  Ludi 
Saeculares  should  be  performed,  and,  as  Lanciani  says,  "tried  to 
prove  that  this  festival  had  been  held  regularly  at  intervals  of  one 
hundred  and  ten  years,  which  was  supposed  to  be  the  length  of 
a  saeculum."  Their  claim  was  not  well  founded,  but  Augustus 
was  pleased  to  accept  the  fiction,  and  the  celebration  was  set 
for  the  summer  of  the  year  I  7  B.  C. 

Of  an  inscribed  pillar  commemorating  this  celebration,  seven 
fragments  have  been  found.      Lanciani  says,  "The  fragments, 
fitted  together,  make  a  block  three  metres  high,  containing  one 
hundred  and  sixty-eight  minutely  inscribed  lines.     This  monu- 
ment, now  exhibited   in    the    Baths  of  Diocletian,  was  in  the 
form  of  a  square  pillar  enclosed  by  a  projecting  frame,  writh  base 
and  capital  of  the  Tuscan  order,  and  it  measured,  when  entire, 
four  metres  in  height.     I    believe  that  there  is  no  inscription 
among    the    thirty   thousand    collected    in    volume  VI   of  the 
Corpus '  which  makes  a  more  profound  impression  on  the  mind, 
or  appeals  more  to  the  imagination  than  this  official  report  of  a 
state  ceremony  which  took  place  over  nineteen  hundred  years 
ago,  and  was  attended  by  the  most  illustrious  men  of  the  age." 
Line  1 48  of  the  inscription  says  that  Horace  wrote  the  hymn, 
which  was  sung  by  a  chorus  of  boys  and  girls: 

CARMEN  COMPOSUIT  Q.  HORATIUS  FLACCUS 

This  was  the  Secular  Hymn  which  De  Vere  has  so  finely 
rendered. 

Davidson  says  that  before  this  hymn  was  sung,  "  Horace  made 
two  Odes  to  exhort  the  Chorus's  to  acquit  themselves  well  in  the 
Part  they  were  to  act,  and  to  intreat  Apollo  to  hear  their  f^rayers, 
and  do  Honour  to  his  Verse.  The  first  is  the  twenty-first  of 
Book  first,  and  the  other  the  sixth  of  Book  fourth.  Horace  was 
at  this  Time  in  the  Forty -ninth  Year  of  his  Age." 


26  Horace  :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Phoebus !  and  Dian,  thou  whose  sway 

Mountains  and  woods  obey ! 
Twin  glories  of  the  skies,  for  ever  worshipped,  hear ! 
Accept  our  prayer  this  sacred  year 
When,  as  the  SibyKs  voice  ordained 

For  ages  yet  to  come. 
Pure  maids  and  youths  unstained 
Invoke  the  Gods  who  love  the  seven-fold  hills  of  Rome. 

All-bounteous  Sun ! 
Forever  changing  and  forever  one : 
Who  in  thy  lustrous  car  bear'st  forth  the  light, 
And  hid'st  it,  setting,  in  the  arms  of  Night, 
Look  down  on  worlds  outspread,  yet  nothing  see 
Greater  than  Rome,  and  Rome's  high  sovereignty. 

Thou,  llithyia,  too,  whatever  name. 

Goddess,  thou  dost  approve, 
Lucina,  Genitalis,  still  the  same, 
Aid  destined  mothers  with  a  mother's  love ; 

Prosper  the  Senate's  wise  decree. 
Fertile  of  marriage  faith  and  countless  progeny ! 
As  centuries  progressive  wing  their  flight 
For  thee  the  grateful  hymn  shall  ever  sound ; 

Thrice  by  day,  and  thrice  by  night. 
For  thee  the  choral  dance  shall  beat  the  ground. 

Fates !  whose  unfailing  word 
Spoken  from  lips  Sibylline  shall  abide. 

Ordained,  preserved,  and  sanctified 
By  Destiny's  eternal  law,  accord 

To  Rome  new  blessings  that  shall  last 


Poems  of  Patriotism 

In  chain  unbroken  from  the  Past. 
Mother  of  fruits  and  flocks,  prolific  Earth ! 
Bind  wreaths  of  spiked  corn  round  Ceres'  hair: 
And  may  soft  showers  and  Jove's  benignant  air 

Nurture  each  infant  birth ! 


27 


Lay  down  thine  arrows,  God  of  day! 
Smile  on  thy  youths  elect  who  singing  pray. 
Thou,  Crescent  Queen,  bow  down  thy  star-crown'd 

head. 
And  on  thy  youthful  choir  a  kindly  influence  shed. 
If  Rome  be  all  your  work — if  Troy's  sad  band 
Safe-sped  by  you  attained  the  Etruscan  strand, 

A  chosen  remnant,  vowed 
To  seek  new  Lares  and  a  changed  abode — 
Remnant  for  whom  thro'  Ilion's  blaidng  gate 
Aeneas,  orphan  of  a  ruined  State, 

Opened  a  pathway  wide  and  free 

To  happier  homes  and  liberty :  — 
Ye  Gods !  if  Rome  be  yours,  to  placid  Age 

Give  timely  rest :  to  docile  Youth 
Grant  the  rich  heritage 

Of  morals,  modesty,  and  truth. 
On  Rome  herself  bestow  a  teeming  race 
Wealth,  Empire,  Faith,  and  all  befitting  Grace. 
Vouchsafe  to  Venus'  and  Anchises'  heir. 

Who  offers  at  your  shrine 

Due  sacrifice  of  milk-white  kine. 
Justly  to  rule,  to  pity,  and  to  dare. 
To  crush  insulting  hosts,  the  prostrate  foeman  spare. 


K  ' 


28  Horace :  Quinius  Horaiius  Flaccus 

The  haughty  Mede  has  learnt  to  fear 
The  Alban  axe,  the  Latian  spear, 
And  Scythians,  suppliant  now,  await 
The  conqueror's  doom,  their  coming  fate. 
Honour  and  Peace,  and  Pristine  Shame, 
And  Virtue's  oft  dishonoured  name, 
Have  dared,  long  exiled,  to  return, 
And  with  them  Plenty  lifts  her  golden  horn. 

Augur  Apollo !    Bearer  of  the  bow ! 

Warrior  and  Prophet !    Loved  one  of  the  Nine ! 
Healer  in  sickness !    Comforter  in  woe ! 

If  still  the  templed  crags  of  Palatine 
And  Latium's  fruitful  plains  to  thee  are  dear. 

Perpetuate  for  cycles  yet  to  come, 
Mightier  in  each  advancing  year. 

The  ever-growing  might  and  majesty  of  Rome. 
Thou,  too,  Diana,  from  thine  Aventine, 

And  Algidus'  deep  woods,  look  down  and  hear 
The  voice  of  those  who  guard  the  books  Divine, 

And  to  thy  youthful  choir  incline  a  loving  ear. 

Return  we  home !    We  know  that  Jove 
And  all  the  Gods  our  song  approve 
To  Phoebus  and  Diana  given: 
The  virgin  hymn  is  heard  in  Heaven. 


i 


DeV 


ere 


Moralities 

Poems  Somewhat  Philosophical  and  Ethical 


i) 


"Quin  corpus  onustum 
Hesternis  vitiis  animum  quoque  praegravat  una, 
Atque  afiigit  humo  divinae  particulam  aurae." 

Sat.  II,  2. 

The  body  clogged  with  crude  excess. 

Which  fumes  of  yesterday's  debauch  oppress. 

Forbids  the  glowing  spirit  to  aspire 

And  chains  to  earth  the  spark  of  heavenly  fire. 


"Quin  corpus  onustum 
Heslernis  vitiis  animum  quoque  praegravat  una, 
Atque  affigit  humo  divinae  particulam  aurae." 

Sat.  II,  2. 

The  body  clogged  with  crude  excess, 

Which   fumes  of   yesterday's  debauch  oppress. 

Forbids  the  glowing  spirit  to  aspire 

And  chains  to  earth  the  spark  of  heavenly  fire. 


t 
I 
I 


>     •     '    >  TO  DELLIUS 

History  paints  Deilius  as  a  shameless  and  treacherous  man. 
He  served  under  Cassius  and  Brutus,  then  under  Mark 
Antony;  but  finally  came  over  to  the  side  of  Augus^ps.  As 
he  was  finally  received  and  "horiored  by  Caesar  and  addressed 
by  Horace:  perhaps  he  had  some  merit. 

The  first  verse  of  this  Ode  contains  the  favorite  Horatian 
philosophy  about  Elquanimity  and  the  certain  coming  of  death. 
This  is  followed  by  a  descriptive  passage  of  great  beauty. 
Dryden  made  a  beautiful  translation  of  the  Ode,  except  for  the 
first  stanza.  This  is  so  flat  and  puerile  that  it  spoils  the  reader 
for  the  rest.  We  have  sjubstitut^d  DeVere's  introduction. 
The  Latin  lines  are  miich  better  than  the  English  at  its  best. 

Be  mindful  thou,  when  storms  of.  adverse  fate 
Encompass  thee,  to  meet  still  unsubdued 

Their  worst  with  manly  fortitude : 

When  Fortune,  fickle  Deity, 
Smiles  once  again,  grateful  yet  unelate 
Accept  the  gift,  Deilius  foredoomed  to  die. 

Be  thy  Lot  good,  or  be  it  ill. 

Life  ebbs  out  at  the  same  rate  still : 

Whether  with  busie  Cares  opprest, 

Ydu  wear  the  sullen  time  away ; 

Or  whether  to  sweet  Ease  and  Rest, 

You  sometimes  give  a  day; 

Carelessly  laid,  ,     , 

Underneath  a  friendly  shade 

By  Pines,  and  Poplars,  njixt  embraces  made; 

Near  a  River's  sGding  Stream, 

Fetter*d  in  sleep,  bless'd  with  a  Golden  Dream. 


n 


34  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Here,  here,  in  this  much  envied  state. 
Let  every  Blessing  on  thee  wait ; 
Bid  the  Syrian  Nard  be  brought, 
Bid  the  Hidden  Wine  be  sought, 
And  let  the  Roses  short-liv*d  Flov/er, 
The  smiling  Daughter  of  an  Hour, 
Flourish  on  thy  Brow : 
Enjoy  the  very,  very  now ! 
While  the  good  Hand  of  Life  is  in. 
While  yet  the  Fatal  Sisters  spin. 

A  little  hence  my  Friend,  and  Thou 

Must  into  other  hands  resign 

Thy  Gardens  and  thy  Parks,  and  all  that  now 

Bears  the  pleasing  name  of  Thine ! 

Thy  Meadows,  by  whose  planted  Tides, 

Silver  Tyber  gently  glides  1 

Thy  pleasant  Houses ;  all  must  go. 

The  Gold  that's  hoarded  in  *em  too ; 

A  jolly  Heir  shall  set  it  free. 

And  give  th*  Imprisoned  Monarchs  Liberty. 

Nor  matters  it,  what  Figure  here. 

Thou  dost  among  thy  Fellow  Mortals  bear ; 

How  thou  wert  born,  or  how  begot ; 

Impartial  Death  matters  it  not : 

With  what  Titles  Thou  dost  shine. 

Or  who  was  First  of  all  thy  Line : 

Life's  vain  amusements !  amidst  which  we  dwell ; 

Not  weighed,  nor  understood,  by  the  grim  God  of  Hell ! 


Moralities  35 

In  the  Same  Road  (alas !)  All  Travel  on ! 

By  All  alike,  the  Same  sad  Journy  must  be  gone ! 

Our  blended  Lots  together  lie, 

Mingled  in  One  common  Urn ; 

Sooner  or  Later  out  they  fly : 

The  fatal  Boat  then  wafts  us  to  the  Shore, 

Whence  we  never  shall  return, 

Never ! — never  more ! 

Ode  II y  3     De  Vere  and  Dryden 


€€ 


*Aequam  memento  rebus  in  arduis 
Servare  mentem." 
Remember  to  keep  a  calm  spirit  in  adverse  circumstances. 

"Qua  .  .   .  obliquo  lahorat 

Lympha  fugax  trepidare  rivo.  ** 

Where  the  swift-flowing  stream  strives  to  hasten  down  its 

winding  channel. 

The  last  phrase  above  has  often  been  quoted  to  show  that  Horace  was  a 
real  poet. 

**Omnium 
Versatur  uma  serius  ocius 
Sors  exitura.*' 

The  lots  of  all  are  shaken  in  the  urn  to  come  forth  sooner  or 
later. 

TO  SALLUST 

Sallust  was  a  grand-nephew  of  Sallust  the  historian,  a  rich 
man,  in  favor  with  Augustus.  The  poem  contains  the  scripture 
injunction :  "  He  that  ruleth  his  spirit  is  better  than  he  that 
taketh  a  city."  Proculeius  was  a  Roman  of  rank,  who  treated 
his  family  kindly.  The  Ode  is  not  an  important  one ;  but  con- 
tains phrases  often  quoted. 

Sallust,  no  gloss  adorns  that  gold 
Which  lies  beneath  the  jealous  mould 


36 


Horace :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Nor  doth  it  shine,  save  when  unrolled 
For  template  needs. 

Renown  shall  Proculeius  know, 
Who  did  a  father's  love  bestow 
On  brothers.     Now,  Fame's  trump  shall  blow. 
His  deathless  deeds. 

If  fierce  ambition  you'll  restrain. 
You'll  rule  a  more  enlarged  domain 
Than  Libya,  the  twin  Carthage,  Spain 
All  fused  in  one. 

Dropsy,  by  self-indulgence  grows, 
Nor  will  thirst  cease,  till  outward  flows 
The  fluid  weight,  whence  sickness  shows 
Its  day  is  done. 

Though  raised  to  mighty  Cyrus'  throne, 
Virtue  doth  Phrastes  crime  bemoan. 
Despite  the  people,  nor  doth  own 
Him  blest  in  days ; 

But  deems  that  man,  'gainst  public  vote, 
The  fittest  king  on  whom  to  doat. 
Whose  eye  on  wealth  doth  never  gloat. 
Nor  turn  to  gaze. 

Ode  II,  2     Ordronaux 


t( 


'Nullus  argento  color,   .   .   .   Nisi  temperaio 
Spltndeat  usu." 

There  is  no  brilliancy  on  silver  save  as  it  shines  from  moderate 
use. 


"Crescit   indulgens  sibi   dirus  hydrops, 
Nee  sitim  pellit,  nisi  causa  morbi 
Fugerit  venis,  et  aquosus  albo 
Corpore  languor." 

Ode  II,  2. 

The  Dropsy,  by  indulgence  nursed, 
Pursues   us  with   increasing  Thirst, 
Till  Art  expels  the  Cause,  and  drains 
The  watery   Languor   from  our  Veins. 


36  Horace:   Quinius  Horaiius  Flaccus 

Nor  doth  it  shine,  save  when  unrolled 
For  temprate  needs. 

Renown  shall  Proculeius  know, 
Who  did  a  father's  love  bestow 
On  brothers.      Now,  Fame's  trump  shall  blow. 
His  deathless  deeds. 

If  fierce  ambition  you'll  restrain. 
You'll  rule  a  more  enlarged  domain 
Than  Libya,  the  twin  Carthage,  Spain 
All  fused  in  one. 

Dropsy,  by  self-indulgence  grows, 
Nor  will  thirst  cease,  till  outward  flows 
The  fluid  weight,  whence  sickness  shows 
Its  day  is  done. 

Though  raised  to  mighty  Cyrus'  throne, 
Virtue  doth  Phrastes  crime  bemoan. 
Despite  the  people,  nor  doth  own 
Him  blest  in  days; 

But  deems  that  man,  'gainst  public  vote. 
The  fittest  king  on  whom  to  doat, 
Whose  eye  on  wealth  doth  never  gloat. 
Nor  turn  to  gaze. 

Ode  II,  2     Ordronaux 


''Nullus  argento  color,   .   .   .   Nisi  iemperato 
Splendeat  usu.  " 

There  is  no  brilliancy  on  silver  save  as  it  shines  from  moderate 
use. 


"Crescit   indulgens   sibi   dirus   hydrops, 
Nee  sitim  pellit,  nisi  causa  morbi 
Fugerit  venis,  et  aquosus  albo 
Corpore  languor." 

Ode  II,  2. 

The   Dropsy,  by   indulgence  nursed, 
Pursues  us  with  increasing  Thirst, 
Till  Art  expels  the  Cause,  and  drains 
The  watery    Languor    from  our  Veins. 


Moralities 


37 


"Latius  regnes  avidum  domando 
Spiritum,  quam  si  Libyam  remotis 
Gadibus  Jungas. " 

You  rule  more  widely  by  controlling  a  covetous  spirit,  than  if 
the  whole  world  obeyed  you. 


I 


TO  LICINIUS  MURENA 

Licinius  was  one  of  the  leading  citizens  of  Rome  and  a 
brother-in-law  of  Maecenas.  He  did  not  take  the  safe  course 
in  life  here  advised.  He  conspired  against  Augustus  and  was 
put  to  death.  This  was  later.  This  Ode  is  called  "Incom- 
parable "  by  the  sympathetic  critics  of  Horace.  It  has  been 
done  into  English  with  wonderful  skill  by  Cowper.  The  poem 
is  full  of  maxims ;  though  they  did  Licinius  no  good,  and  his 
career  justifies  the  appended  reflections  of  Cowper. 

Receive,  dear  friend,  the  truths  I  teach. 
So  shalt  thou  live  beyond  the  reach 

Of  adverse  fortune's  power; 
Not  always  tempt  the  distant  deep. 
Nor  always  timorously  creep 

Along  the  treacherous  shore. 

He  that  holds  fast  the  golden  mean, 
And  lives  contentedly  between 

The  little  and  the  great, 
Feels  not  the  wants  that  pinch  the  poor. 
Nor  plagues  that  haunt  the  rich  man's  door, 

Embittering  all  his  state. 

The  tallest  pines  feel  most  the  power 
Of  wintry  blasts ;  the  loftiest  tower 
Comes  heaviest  to  the  ground; 
The  bolts  that  spare  the  mountain's  side 


i 


I 


38  Horace:   Quintus  Horaiius  Flaccus 

His  cloud-capt  eminence  divide, 
And  spread  the  ruin  round. 

The  well-inform'd  philosopher 
Rejoices  with  a  wholesome  fear. 

And  hopes  in  spite  of  pain ; 
If  winter  bellow  from  the  north, 
Soon  the  sweet  Spring  comes  dancing  forth. 

And  Nature  laughs  again. 

What  if  thine  heaven  be  overcast. 
The  dark  appearance  will  not  last ; 

Expect  a  brighter  sky. 
The  God  that  strings  the  silver  bow. 
Awakes  sometimes  the  Muses  too, 

And  lays  his  arrows  by. 

If  hindrances  obstruct  thy  way, 
Thy  magnanimity  display. 

And  let  thy  strength  be  seen : 
But  oh !  if  Fortune  fill  thy  sail 
With  more  than  a  propitious  gale. 

Take  half  thy  canvas  in. 

Ode  II,  10     Cowper 

A  Reflection  on  the  Foregoing  Ode 

And  is  this  all  ?      Can  Reason  do  no  more 

Than  bid  me  shun  the  deep,  and  dread  the  shore  ? 

Sweet  moralist !  afloat  on  life's  rough  sea, 

The  Christian  has  an  art  unknown  to  thee : 

He  holds  no  parley  with  unmanly  fears ; 

Where  Duty  bids  he  confidently  steers. 

Faces  a  thousand  dangers  at  her  call. 

And,  trusting  in  his  God,  surmounts  them  all. 

Cowper 


/'f 


i 


Moralities  39 

*'Saepius  Oentis  agitatur  ingens 
Pinus." 

The  tall  pine  is  more  often  stirred  by  the  winds. 

''Non,  si  male  nunc,  et  olim 
Sic  erit.** 

If  things  are  now  ill,  they  will  not  always  be  so. 

"Neque  semper  arcum 
Tendit  A  polios 

Apollo  is  not  always  bending  his  bow. 

TO    POSTUMUS 

It  is  strange  that  a  cheerful  and  good-natured  man  like 
Horace  should  dwell  so  often  on  the  inevitable  approach  of  age 
and  death.  But  he  is  always  brief,  and  always  treats  the 
subject  in  a  new  way.  Dryden  has  translated  this  Ode  and 
made  of  it  an  elaborate  funeral  hymn.  We  prefer  DeVere's 
version.  The  original  is  full  of  references  to  the  more  unpleasant 
characters  in  Hell.  Postumus  does  not  seem  to  have  been  a 
person  of  importance. 

Alas,  my  Postumus,  our  years 

Glide  silently  away.     No  tears. 

No  loving  orisons  repair 

The  wrinkled  cheek,  the  whitening  hair 

That  drop  forgotten  to  the  tomb: 

Pluto's  inexorable  doom 

Mocks  at  thy  daily  sacrifice : 

Around  his  dreary  kingdom  lies 

That  fatal  stream  whose  arms  infold 

The  giant  race  accurst  of  old; 

All,  all  alike  must  cross  its  wave. 

The  king,  the  noble,  and  the  slave. 

In  vain  we  shun  the  battle  roar. 

And  breakers  dashed  on  Adria's  shore: 


40 


Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Vainly  we  flee  in  terror  blind 

The  plague  that  walketh  on  the  wind : 

The  sluggish  river  of  the  dead, 

Cocytus,  must  be  visited, 

The  Danaid*s  detested  brood. 

Foul  with  their  murdered  husbands*'  blood. 

And  Sisyphus  with  ghastly  smile 

Pointing  to  his  eternal  toil. 

All  must  be  left ;  thy  gentle  wife. 

Thy  home,  the  joys  of  rural  life: 

And  when  thy  fleeting  days  are  gone 

Th*  ill-omened  cypresses  alone 

Of  all  thy  fondly  cherished  trees 

Shall  grace  thy  funeral  obsequies, 

Cling  to  thy  loved  remains,  and  wave 

Their  mournful  shadows  o'er  thy  grave. 

A  lavish,  but  a  nobler  heir 

Thy  hoarded  Caecuban  shall  share. 

And  on  the  tessellated  floor 

The  purple  nectar  madly  pour. 

Nectar  more  worthy  of  the  halls 

Where  pontiffs  hold  high  festivals. 

Ode  II,  14     DeVere 


Moralities 


41 


*'Eheu,  fugacts,  Poslume,  Postume, 
Labuntur  annu* 

Alas,  the  fleeting  years  glide  by,  Postumus,  O,  Postumus. 

**Linquencla  tellus,  et  domus,  et  placens 
Uxor.  '* 

,     Lands,  home  and  beloved  wife  must  all  be  left. 


TO    GROSPHUS 

"Horace,  in  this  Ode,  proceeds  upon  the  Principles  of  the 
Epicurean  Philosophy,  and  represents  Tranquility  of  Mind, 
and  an  ELxemption  from  irregular  Passions,  as  the  highest 
Degree  of  Happiness  a  Man  can  possibly  arrive  at."  Thus 
speaks  Davidson. 

Grosphus,  to  whom  the  poem  was  written,  was  a  Knight 
and  a  friend  of  Horace. 

Ease  is  the  weary  merchant's  prayer, 

Who  ploughs  by  night  the  Aegean  flood. 

When  neither  moon  nor  stars  appear. 
Or  faintly  glimmer  through  the  cloud. 

For  ease  the  Mede  with  quiver  graced. 

For  ease  the  Thracian  hero  sighs; 
Delightful  ease  all  pant  to  taste, 

A  blessing  which  no  treasure  buys. 

For  neither  gold  can  lull  to  rest, 

Nor  all  a  Consul's  guard  beat  off 
The  tumults  of  a  troubled  breast, 

The  cares  that  haunt  a  gilded  roof. 

Happy  the  man  whose  table  shows 

A  few  clean  ounces  of  old  plate; 
No  fear  intrudes  on  his  repose, 

No  sordid  wishes  to  be  great. 

Poor  short-lived  things  !  what  plans  we  lay ! 
Ah,  why  forsake  our  native  home ; 


42  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

To  distant  climates  speed  away? 

For  self  sticks  close  where'er  we  roam. 

Care  follows  hard,  and  soon  overtakes 
The  well-rigg'd  ship,  the  warlike  steed ; 

Her  destined  quarry  ne'er  forsakes — 
Not  the  wind  flies  with  half  her  speed. 

From  anxious  fears  of  future  ill 

Guard  well  the  cheerful,  happy  now ; 

Gild  even  your  sorrows  with  a  smile; 
No  blessing  is  unmix'd  below. 

Thy  neighing  steeds  and  lowing  herds, 
Thy  numerous  flocks  around  thee  graze, 

And  the  best  purple  Tyre  affords 
Thy  robe  magnificent  displays. 

On  me  indulgent  Heaven  bestow'd 

A  rural  mansion,  neat  and  small; 
This  lyre; —  and  as  for  yonder  crowd — 

The  happiness  to  hate  them  all. 

Ode  II,  16     Cowper 


*' Patriae  quis  exul 
Se  quoque  fugit  ?  " 

Who,  an  exile  from  this  country, 
ELscapes  himself  also? 

'* Nihil  est  ah  omni 
Parte  heatum.*' 

Nothing  is  blessed  in  every  point. 


Moralities 


43 


TO  ASINIUS  POLLIO 

Pollio  was  a  successful  warrior  serving  under  Julius  Caesar ; 
but  he  retired  from  active  service  and  became  best  known  as 
an  orator,  historian  and  poet.  He  was,  perhaps,  the  most 
eminent  of  Horace's  friends.  Macleane,  usually  so  frigid, 
shows  a  little  more  warmth  over  this  piece,  as  well  for  its  poetic 
beauty  as  for  its  moralities.  The  poem  is  an  expression  of  a 
high  type  of  religious  feeling  and  philosophy  of  life.  It  incul- 
cates, says  De  Vere,  reverence,  submission,  frugality,  industry 
and  resignation.  Such  announcement  need  not  frighten  away 
the  modem  pueros  virginesque.  It  has  beautiful  descriptive 
passages,  and  the  translator  has  put  it  into  eloquent  and  inspiring 
language. 

Parts  of  this  poem  have  been  done  so  well  by  Cowley  that 
we  print  them  also. 

Away,  ye  herd  profane ! 
Silence !  let  no  unhallow'd  tongue 
Disturb  the  sacred  rights  of  song, 
Whilst  1,  the  High  Priest  of  the  Nine 
For  youths  and  maids  alone  entwine 

A  new  and  loftier  strain. 

Nations  before  their  Monarchs  bow; 

Jove,  who  from  Heaven  the  giants  hurled, 
Rules  over  kings,  and  moves  the  world 

With  the  majestic  terrors  of  his  brow. 

Follies  perverse  of  mortal  life ! 
Insane  ambition,  futile  strife ! 
One  vainly  brags  a  happier  skill 
His  vines  to  range,  his  glebes  to  till ; 
Another  boasts  his  nobler  name. 


44  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

His  client  throngs,  his  purer  fame : 
Poor  fools,  inexorable  Fate 
Deals  equal  law  to  small  and  great, 
Shaking  the  urn  from  which  allotted  fly 
Joy,  pain,  life,  death,  despair  and  victory. 

To  him  above  whose  impious  head 

Th*  avenging  sword  impends, 
Sicilian  feasts  no  joy  impart ; 
Nor  bird,  nor  lute,  nor  minstrel  art 
His  vigil  charms.      Upon  his  bed 

No  healing  dew  of  innocent  sleep  descends. 

Sleep  hovers  with  extended  wing 
Above  the  roof  where  Labour  dwells ; 
Or  where  the  river  murmuring 
Ripples  beneath  the  beechen  shade; 

Or  where  in  Tempe's  dells 
No  sound  but    Zephyr's   breath   throbs  through  the 
sylvan  glade. 

The  humble  man  who  nought  requires 
Save  what  sufficed  his  frugal  sires 

Laughs  at  the  portents  vain 
Of  fierce  Arcturus*  sinking  star. 
Or  rising  Haedus ;  sees  afar 

Unmoved  the  raging  main; 
Content  though  farms  their  fruits  deny, 
Though  shattered  vineyards  prostrate  lie. 
Though  floods  and  frost  the  fields  despoil, 
Or  hot  suns  rend  the  arid  soil. 

Contented  still  to  live  and  toil. 


Moralities  45 

The  lord  of  wide  domains 
Unsated  still  his  ample  bound  disdains. 

And  through  the  bosom  of  the  deep 
Diives  the  huge  mole,  down-flinging  heap  on  heap. 
The  finny  race  behold  the  new-born  land 
Amazed,  see  towers  arise,  and  fields  expand. 
And  'mid  his  hireling  crew  th'  usurper  stand. 

Proudly  he  stands ;  but  at  his  side 

Terror  still  dogs  the  steps  of  pride : 
Behind  the  horseman  sits  black  Care, 
And  o'er  the  brazen  trireme  bends  Despair. 

Not  marble  from  the  Phrygian  mine. 
Nor  robes  star-bright,  Falemian  wine. 

Nor  Achaemenian  balm, 
Can  soothe  the  weary  heart  opprest. 
Or  still  the  tumult  of  the  breast 

With  one  brief  moment's  calm. 
Then,  wherefore  change  my  Sabine  home, 

Where  Envy  dwells  not,  life  is  free. 
For  pillared  gate,  and  lofty  dome. 

And  the  dull  load  of  luxury? 

Ode  III.  I     Dc  Vert 


*'Post  equitem  sedet  atra  Cura.** 
Black  Care  sits  behind  the  horseman. 


**Destrictus  ensis  cui  super  impia 
Cervice  pendet,  non  Siculae  dapes 
Dulcem  elahorahunt  saporem.** 

Not  even  Sicilian  banquets  have  a  pleasant  savour  for  the 
wicked  man  over  whose  head  hangs  a  naked  sword. 


\i 


46  Horace :  Quintus  Horaiius  Flaccus 


■^M^^!^' 


PASSAGES  FROM  THE  SAME  ODE. 
COWLEY'S  VERSION 

DEATH 

Ev'n  so  in  the  same  land, 
Poor  weeds,  rich  com,  gay  flowers,  together  stand ; 
Alas!  death  mows  down  all  with  an  impartial  hand: 
And  all  ye  men,  whom  greatness  does  so  please, 

Ye  feast,  1  fear,  like  Damocles: 

If  ye  your  eyes  could  upwards  move, 
(But  ye,  1  fear,  think  nothing  is  above,) 
Ye  would  perceive  by  what  a  little  thread 

The  sword  still  hangs  over  your  head: 

No  tide  of  wine  would  drown  your  cares; 
No  mirth  or  music  over-noise  your  fears: 
The  fear  of  death  would  you  so  watchful  keep. 
As  not  t'  admit  the  image  of  it,  Sleep. 

SLEEP 

Sleep  is  a  god  too  proud  to  wait  in  palaces. 
And  yet  so  humble  too,  as  not  to  scorn 

The  meanest  country  cottages : 

"  His  poppy  grows  among  the  com." 
The  halcyon  Sleep  will  never  build  his  nest 
In  any  stormy  breast. 

'Tis  not  enough  that  he  does  find 

Clouds  and  darkness  in  their  mind ; 

Darkness  but  half  his  work  will  do : 

'Tis  not  enough ;  he  must  find  quiet  too. 

TO  CALLIOPE 

This  is  Horace's  longest  Ode,  and  ranks  with  his  best. 
Horace  himself  apparently  wished  it  to  represent  the  highest 
flight  of  his  genius.  The  poet  announces  himself  as  a  favorite 
of  the  Muses,  who  saved  his  life  as  a  child  and  inspire  him 
now.  He  portrays  the  victory  of  Jove  over  the  Titans,  by  the 
help  and  counsel  of  the  other  wise   gods,  and  proclaims  the 


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46  Horace :  Quinius  Horalius  Flaccus 


PASSAGES  FROM  THE  SAME  ODE. 
COWLEY'S  VERSION 

DEATH 

Ev'n  so  in  the  same  land. 
Poor  weeds,  rich  com,  gay  flowers,  together  stand; 
Alas !  death  mows  down  all  with  an  impartial  hand : 
And  all  ye  men,  whom  greatness  does  so  please. 

Ye  feast,  1  fear,  like  Damocles: 

If  ye  your  eyes  could  upwards  move, 
(But  ye,  I  fear,  think  nothing  is  above,) 
Ye  would  perceive  by  what  a  little  thread 

The  sword  still  hangs  over  your  head: 

No  tide  of  wine  would  drown  your  cares; 
No  mirth  or  music  over-noise  your  fears: 
The  fear  of  death  would  you  so  watchful  keep. 
As  not  t'  admit  the  image  of  it.  Sleep. 

SLEEP 

Sleep  is  a  god  too  proud  to  wait  in  palaces. 
And  yet  so  humble  too,  as  not  to  scorn 

The  meanest  country  cottages : 

"  His  poppy  grows  among  the  corn." 
The  halcyon  Sleep  will  never  build  his  nest 
In  any  stormy  breast. 

'Tis  not  enough  that  he  does  find 

Clouds  and  darkness  in  their  mind ; 

Darkness  but  half  his  work  will  do : 

'Tis  not  enough  ;  he  must  find  quiet  too. 

TO  CALLIOPE 

This  is  Horace's  longest  Ode,  and  ranks  with  his  best. 
Horace  himself  apparently  wished  it  to  represent  the  highest 
flight  of  his  genius.  The  poet  announces  himself  as  a  favorite 
of  the  Muses,  who  saved  his  life  as  a  child  and  inspire  him 
now.  He  portrays  the  victory  of  Jove  over  the  Titans,  by  the 
help  and  counsel   of  the  other  wise   gods,  and   proclaims  the 


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Moralities 


47 


truth  that  Force  is  useless  without  Wisdom  to  guide  it.  The 
application  of  this  doctrine  was  being  made  by  Augustus,  who 
is  thus  indirectly  praised. 

Calliope,  the  Muse  of  Poetry,  was  the  eldest  and  the  Queen 
of  the  Muses. 

Horace  makes  here  many  references  to  localities  in  which  he 
lived  and  where  he  was  bom,  and  he  introduces  his  important 
Deities:  Minerva,  Goddess  of  Wisdom;  Juno,  Goddess  of  the 
Household;  Vulcan,  a  god  of  Industry;  and  Apollo,  god  of 
Light  and  of  Poetry.  The  poem  is  apparently  disconnected,  but 
not  really  so.  To  indicate  the  different  themes  we  have  grouped 
certain  stanzas  together. 

Descend  from  Heaven,  Calliope,  and  bring 
The  long-drawn  breath  of  thy  melodious  flute, 
Or  the  wild  throbbings  of  Apollo's  lute; 
Or  with  uplifted  voice  th*  heroic  anthem  sing  I 
Is  this  some  phantom  sound  that  mocks  mine  ear? — 
'Tis  she,  the  Muse !     I  hear,  1  hear 
The  voice  Divine.     Methinks  I  rove 
Listening  her  song  within  some  sacred  grove 
Where  through  the  branches  summer  breezes  play 
And  caverned  streams  in  silence  glide  away. 


Child  of  the  Muse,  on  Voltur's  steep 
Beyond  Apulia's  bounds  I  strayed: 
Wearied  with  sport  I  sank  to  sleep : — 
Doves,  dear  to  legendary  lore. 
From  woodlands  far  fresh  flowers  and  leaflets  bore, 
And  hid  th'  unconscious  infant  'neath  their  shade. 


In  myrtle  wrapped,  close-veiled  in  bay. 
Secure  from  snakes  and  savage  beasts  I  lay. 


48  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

A  fearless  babe  protected  from  on  high 
Sleeping  the  innocent  sleep  of  infancy ; 

A  miracle  to  all  that  dwell 
On  Acherontia's  mountain  citadel, 
Or  rich  Ferentum's  plain,  or  Bantia's  forest  dell. 
Uplifted  by  the  Muses  1  explore 
The  arduous  summits  of  rude  Sabine  hills: 
Yours,  and  forever  yours,  1  gaze 
On  cool  Praeneste,  and  the  rills 
Of  Tibur  upturned  to  the  noontide  rays. 
And  liquid  Baiae  on  the  Tyrrhene  shore. 
So  dear  to  you,  Immortal  Nine,  is  he. 
The  bard  who  loves  your  fountains  and  your  song. 
Philippics  headlong  flight  bore  him  unharmed  along : 
You  saved  him  from  the  falling  tree 
And  that  Sicilian  sea 
Where  Palinurus'  cliff  blackens  the  stormy  wave. 
Fearless  with  you  my  feet  would  brave 
Wild  Bosphorus,  Assyria's  burning  sand. 
Inhospitable  Britain,  and  the  land 
Of  warlike  Concans  nursed  on  horses*  blood, 
Gelonia*s  quivered  hordes,  and  Scythia's  frozen  flood. 


Caesar  with  warlike  toils  opprest 
In  your  Pierian  cavern  finds  his  rest. 
His  weary  legions  citizens  once  more; 

While  you,  rejoicing  pour 
Into  his  heart  mild  counsels  from  on  high. 
Counsels  of  mercy,  peace,  and  thoughtful  piety. 


Moralities 


49 


We  know  how  Jove, 
Who  rules  with  just  command 
Cities  and  Nations,  and  the  Gods  above. 
The  solid  Earth,  the  Seas,  and,  down  beneath. 
The  ghostly  throng  that  haunts  the  realms  of  death. 
Launched   the  swift    thunder  from   his  outstretcht 
hand, 
And  down  to   darkness  hurled    the  Titans*  impious 
band. 


Shuddered  the  Strong  One  at  the  sight 

One  moment,  when  with  giant  might 

That  Earth-born  generation  strove 
To  pile  up  Pelion  on  Olympus*  height. 

And  scale  the  Heavens :  but  what  bested 
Rhaetus,  or  Mimas,  or  Typhoeus  dread, 
Porphyrion's  towering  form  the  Gods  defying, 
Enceladus  who  as  a  spear  could  wield 

Uprooted  pines  ?     Amazed  they  fled 

Pallas  with  her  echoing  shield. 
Queen  Juno,  Vulcan  burning  for  the  fight, 

And  him  who  by  Castalia  lying 
Bathes  in  the  sacred  fount  his  unbound  hair ; 

That  God  whose  shoulders  ever  bear 
The  Cynthian  bow;  Phoebus  who  honours  still 
Delos,  his  natal  isle,  and  Lycia's  bosky  hill. 

Power,  reft  of  wisdom,  falls  by  its  own  weight : 
Wisdom,  made  one  with    strength,  th'  Immortals 
bless, 


50         Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

And  evermore  exalt :  they  hate 
Tyrannous  force  untempered,  pitiless. 


Moralities 


51 


Diana's  virgin  dart 

Drank  the  dark  blood  of  Orion's  heart; 

And  hundred-handed  Gyas  met  his  doom 

Crushed  'neath  the  darkness  of  a  living  tomb. 

Earth,  heaped  upon  those  buried  Portents,  mourns 
Her  monstrous  sons.     The  insatiate  flame 
Forever  under  Etna  burns. 
Yet  ne'er  consumes  its  quivering  frame : 
Forever  feasts  the  vulture  brood 
Remorseless  upon  Tityos'  blood ; 
The  lover  base,  Pirithous,  complains 
Forever  'neath  the  weight  of  his  three  hundred  chains. 

Ode  III,  4     De  Vere 


**Vis  consili  expers  mole  wit  sua/* 
Strength  devoid  of  judgment  falls  by  its  own  weight. 


TO  MAECENAS 

Hiis  Ode  was  written  when  Horace  was  about  forty  years 
old.  "  It  is  an  invitation  from  the  poet  pressing  his  patron  to  pay 
him  a  visit  at  his  farm."  Such  is  the  comment  of  the  prosaic 
grammarian,  Macleane. 

It  is  one  of  Horace's  greatest  and  most  varied  Odes,  and  con- 
tains the  Horatian  philosophy  in  its  higher  mood,  says  De  Vere. 

Dryden  has  made  a  singularly  successful  translation  and  we 
print  it,  though  De  Vere's  breathes  a  deeper  feeling. 

Descended  of  an  ancient  line 

That  long  the  Tuscan  sceptre  swayed. 


Make  haste  to  meet  the  generous  wine, 
Whose  piercing  is  for  thee  delayed: 
The  rosy  wreath  is  ready  made: 

And  artful  hands  prepare 

The  fragrant  Syrian  oil  that  shall  perfume  thy  hair. 

When  the  wine  sparkles  from  afar, 

And    the   well-natur'd    friend    cries,    "Come 


away 


f 


Make  haste,  and  leave  thy  business  and  thy  care ; 
No  mortal  interest  can  be  worth  thy  stay. 
Leave  for  a  while  thy  costly  country-seat, 
And,  to  be  great  indeed,  forget 
The  nauseous  pleasures  of  the  great. 

Make  haste  and  come! 
Come  and  forsake  thy  cloying  store! 
Thy  turret  that  surveys  from  high 

The  smoke,  and  wealth,  and  noise  of  Rome, 
And  all  the  busy  pageantry 
That  wise  men  scom  and  fools  adore. 
Come,  give  thy  soul  a  loose,  and  taste  the  pleasures 
of  the  poor! 

Sometimes  'tis  grateful  to  the  rich  to  try 
A  short  vicissitude  and  fit  of  poverty: 
A  savory  dish,  a  homely  treat 
Where  all  is  plain,  where  all  is  neat, 
Without  the  stately  spacious  room. 
The  Persian  carpet,  or  the  Tyrian  loom. 
Clear  up  the  cloudy  foreheads  of  the  great. 


52  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

The  sun  is  in  the  Lion  mounted  high, 
The  Syrian  star 
Barks  from  afar, 
And,  with  his  sultry  breath,  infects  the  sky; 
The  ground  below  is  parched,  the  heavens  above 
us  fry; 
The  shepherd  drives  his  fainting  flock 
Beneath  the  covert  of  a  rock, 
And  seeks  refreshing  rivulets  nigh: 
The  sylvans  to  their  shades  retire ; 
Those  very  shades   and  streams  new  shades  and 

streams  require. 
And  want   a   cooling  breeze   of  wind  to  fan  the 
raging  fire. 

Thou,  what  befits  the  new  Lord  Mayor, 
And  what  the  city  factions  dare. 
And  what  the  Gallic  arms  will  do, 
And  what  the  quiver- bearing  foe. 
Art  anxiously  inquisitive  to  know: 

But  God  has  wisely  hid  from  human  sight 
The  dark  decrees  of  future  fate, 

And  sown  their  seeds  in  depth  of  night. 

He  laughs  at  all  the  giddy  turns  of  state. 

Where  mortals  search  too  soon,  and  fear  too  late. 

Enjoy  the  present  smiling  hour. 
And  put  it  out  of  fortune's  power ; 
The  tide  of  business,  like  the  running  stream. 
Is  sometimes  high  and  sometimes  low. 


Moralities 

A  quiet  ebb  or  a  tempestuous  flow. 
And  always  in  extreme. 


53 


Now  with  a  noiseless  gentle  course 

It  keeps  within  the  middle  bed; 

Anon  it  lifts  aloft  the  head. 
And  bears  down  all  before  it  with  impetuous  force. 

And  trunks  of  trees  come  rolling  down. 

Sheep  and  their  folds  together  drown; 
Both  house  and  homestead  into  seas  are  borne. 
And  rocks  are  from  their  old  foundations  torn. 
And  woods,  made  thin  with  winds,  their  scattered 
honors  mourn. 

Happy  the  man,  and  happy  he  alone. 

He  who  can  call  today  his  own : 

He  who,  secure  within,  can  say. 
To-morrow  do  thy  worst,  for  1  have  lived  to-day ! 

Be  fair  or  foul,  or  rain  or  shine. 
The  joys  1  have  possessed,  in  spite  of  fate,  are  mine. 
Not  heaven  itself  upon  the  past  has  power. 
And  what  has  been  has  been,  and  I  have  had  my 
hour.  • 

Fortune,  that  with  malicious  joy, 
Does  man,  her  slave,  oppress, 

Proud  of  her  office  to  destroy. 

Is  seldom  pleased  to  bless ; 
Still  various,  and  unconstant  still. 
But  with  an  inclination  to  be  ill. 
Promotes,  degrades,  delights  in  strife. 


54  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

And  makes  a  lottery  of  life. 

I  can  enjoy  her  while  she's  kind ; 

But  when  she  dances  in  the  wind, 
And  shakes  the  wings,  and  will  not  stay, 
1  puff  the  prostitute  away : 

The  little  or  the  much  she  gave  is  quietly  resigned ; 
Content  with  poverty,  my  soul  1  arm ; 
And  virtue,  though  in  rags,  vAW  keep  me  warm. 

What  is't  to  me. 
Who  never  sail  in  her  unfaithful  sea. 
If  storms  arise,  and  clouds  grow  black, 
if  the  mast  split  and  threaten  wreck  ? 
Then  let  the  greedy  merchant  fear 

For  his  ill-gotten  gain, 
And  pray  to  gods,  that  will  not  hear, 
While  the  debating  winds  and  billows  bear 

His  wealth  into  the  main. 
For  me,  secure  from  Fortune's  blows. 
Secure  of  what  1  cannot  lose. 
In  my  small  pinnace  I  can  sail. 

Contemning  all  the  blustering  roar ; 
And,  running  with  a  merry  gale, 
With  friendly  stars  my  safety  seek 
Within  some  little  winding  creek. 

And  see  the  storm  ashore. 

Ode  III,  29     Drydtn 


Moralities 


55 


**Ille  potens  sui 
Laetusque  deget,  cui  licet  in  diem 
Dixisse,  Vixi/' 

He  shall  continue  master  of  himself  and  happy,  to  whom  it  is 
permitted  each  day  to  say,  1  have  lived. 


''Prudens  futuri  temporis  exiium 
Caliginosa  node  premit  deus/' 
God  wisely  conceals  in  darkness  the  things  time  is  to  bring  forth. 


B 


Poems  Mainly  Personal 


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MAECENAS,  FROM  AN  ANTIQUE  BUST 


TO  MAECENAS 

"  Horace  in  this  beautiful  Ode  shows  the  different  inclinations 
of  Men  and  his  own  in  particular.  It  is  plac*d  first,  as  a  Dedi- 
cation of  the  Poet's  Works  to  his  Great  Patron  Maecenas,  tho* 
composed  after  a  great  many  of  those  that  follow."     Davidson. 

The  Ode  was  written  when  Horace  was  forty-one.  It  is 
not  very  interesting ;  but  it  has  always  been  the  first  work  of 
Horace  presented  to  the  school-boy  and  the  opening  line, 
"Maecenas  atavis  edite  regibus,"  forms  one  of  the  tag-ends  of 
most  collegians'  Latinity. 

The  translation  selected  was  published  under  the  title  "  Hor- 
ace's Ghost,"  because  it  rather  paraphrases  than  translates  the 
original.  But  it  is  better  than  the  real  thing  as  put  into  English 
by  other  hands. 

Gentle  reader, — patron  mine, 
Born  of  old. and  patient  line. 

Some  with  eager  zest  embrace 
Glories  of  the  field  and  chase ; 
Covet  these  the  athlete's  prize. 
Guerdon  meet  in  lady's  eyes; 
Those,  Ambition's  clarion  calls 
To  the  Commons'  storied  halls. 
Heart  and  Will  by  Fancy  set 
On  the  star  and  coronet; 


Battle  some  for  golden  gain. 
Gamers  stored  with  Indian  grain; 
Him,  the  wealth  Golconda  yields 


*  ,  - 

60         Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Tempts  not  from  his  father's  fields, 
Far  a-bound  on  ship  to  roam 
From  the  safety  of  his  home  ; 
While  another  courts  in  vain 
Dull  repose  from  wind  and  main, 
Praising  Ease,  to  test  anew 
Fragile  freight  and  careless  crew ; 
Some  the  wine-cup's  vigils  keep ; 
Some  in  busy  daylight  sleep 
By  the  crystal  fountain's  sheen, 
Or  beneath  the  covert  green ; 
Blithe  the  soldier  springs  to  arms. 
Vainly  Beauty  woos  and  charms. 
When  the  boar  and  tiger  near 
Face  the  hunter's  gun  and  spear. 
Godlike  all  our  pleasures  be. 
For  the  Lords  of  Earth  are  we. 
Ivied  Muse  q{  frolic  song. 
Set  me  mid  thy  joyous  throng ; 
Do  not  all  thy  smiles  deny 
To  thy  constant  votary ! 
Let  me  win  the  lowest  place 
In  thy  dear  and  winsome  grace, 
Happy  then,  and  passion-free, — 
Earth  has  naught  to  offer  me. 

Ode  /,  /     H.  C.  M, 


*'Est  qui  nee  ceteris  pocula  Massici  .... 
Spemit." 

There  are  those  who  do  not  disdain  cups  of  old  wine. 


Personal 


61 


'Si 

?1 


TO  THE  SHIP 

IN  WHICH  VIRGIL  WAS  ABOUT  TO  SAIL  FOR  GREECE 

"  We  may  look  on  this  Ode  as  the  last  farewell  of  Horace  to 
Virgil,  when  he  embarked  for  Greece ;  and  they  never  saw 
one  another  more.  The  first  eight  lines  have  something  in 
them  admirably  tender,  and  the  rest  something  very  grand ;  for 
nothing  can  be  more  finished  in  its  Kind  than  this  Ode." 
Davidson. 

Virgil  was  about  fifty-two  years  old  at  this  time  and  in  feeble 
health.  Horace  was  about  six  years  younger.  The  second 
part  of  the  Ode  shows  Horace  to  have  been  very  conservative 
as  to  mechanical  progress.  He  would  not  have  liked  automo- 
biles or  aeroplanes. 

May  she,  th'  all-potent  Cyprian  Queen, 
And  those  twin  stars,  fair  Helen  s  brothers,  guide 

Thy  course,  O  ship,  with  ray  serene. 
May  he,  the  Father-God,  who  rules  each  wind. 

The  warning  tempests  chide. 
And  in  his  deep  sea-cave  all  but  lapyx  bind. 

Reach  safely  the  Athenian  shore ! 
Redeem  thy  pledge,  swift  galley,  and  restore 
My  friend,  my  Virgil,  half  my  soul,  once  more. 


Strong  oak  and  triple  brass  were  round  his  breast 
Who  in  frail  bark  through  surging  waters  first 

With  heart  undaunted  burst. 
Nor  feared  conflicting  storms  that  lashed  the  seas. 

Or  the  sad  portent  of  the  Hyades, 
Or  Libyan  blasts  that  curled  or  smoothed  the  crest 
Of  Adrian  waves ; — who  with  untroubled  eye 


ill 


62  Horace:  Quinlus  Horalius  Flaccus 

Could  mark  the  foul  sea-monsters  wallowing  nigh. 

And  hear  unmoved  the  sullen  shocks 
Of  billows  on  th'  ill-famed  Ceraunian  rocks! 

A  wise  and  kindly  Deity 
Spread  Oceans  vast  between  dissevered  shores : 

Man,  reckless  and  profane, 
O'erleaps  their  limits  and  explores 
The  wastes  forbidden  of  the  trackless  mam, 
Daring  to  suffer,  and  to  sin,  for  gam. 

Fearless  and  insolent,  by  fraud  malign, 
Prometheus  stole  from  Heaven  the  fire  dmne : 
Then  caught  gaunt  Famme:-then  the  po.son-breath 
Of  Pestilence  new-bom  hung  broodmg  low. 
Darkening  the  earth  with  baleful  wings  ;-and  Death 
Remote  erewhile  and  slow. 
Through  realms  by  sin  left  desolate 
Moved  on,  a  spectral  fomi,  with  footsteps  winged  by 
Fate. 

Through  air  on  wings  to  man  denied 
The  Cretan  captive  led  his  hapless  son : 
The  might  of  Hercules  the  Gods  defied 
And  burst  the  fiery  bonds  of  Acheron : 
All  guilt,  all  peril,  in  our  pride  we  brave  ; 
-       We  storm  the  skies,  and  find  the  grave; 

We  we  ourselves,  audacious,  blind, 
Drag  down  Joves  vengeful  thunde^-J  mankind.^^^ 


Pe 


rsona 


I 


63 


**Nil  mortalibus  ardui  est. " 
Nothing  is  too  arduous  for  mortals. 

**Neque 
Per  nostrum  patimur  scelus 
Iracunda  Jovem  ponere  fulmina.  ** 

Nor  do  we  on  account  of  our  wickedness  let  God  lay  aside  his 
wrath. 

PART  OF  THE  SAME  ODE 

We  print  here  Dryden's  translation  of  the  first  and  last  part 
of  this  same  Ode,  for  it  is  nobly  done. 

So  may  the  auspicious  Queen  of  Love, 
And  the  Twin  Stars,  the  seed  of  Jove, 
And  he  who  rules  the  raging  wind. 
To  thee,  O  sacred  ship,  be  kind ; 
And  gentle  breezes  fill  thy  sails. 
Supplying  soft  Etesian  gales: 
As  thou,  to  whom  the  Muse  commends 
The  best  of  poets  and  of  friends. 
Dost  thy  committed  pledge  restore. 
And  land  him  safely  on  the  shore : 
And  save  the  better  part  of  me 
From  perishing  with  him  at  sea. 


And  limping  Death,  lash'd  on  by  fate. 

Comes  up  to  shorten  half  our  date. 

This  made  not  Daedalus  beware. 

With  borrowed  wings  to  sail  thin  air; 

To  Hell  Alcides  forced  his  way. 

Plunged  through  the  lake  and  snatched  the  prey. 

Nay,  scarce  the  gods,  or  heavenly  climes. 

Are  safe  from  our  audacious  crimes; 

We  reach  at  Jove's  imperial  crown. 

And  pull  the  unwilling  thunder  down. 

TO  AGRIPPA 

"  Agrippa  had  probably  upbraided  Horace  for  never  making 
him  the  Subject  of  his  Muse.  The  Poet  excuses  himself,  and 
says  that  Agrippa's  Praises  are  no  more  than  the  outlines  of 


64  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

his  Character,  which  would  be  a  fit  Subject  for  an  Epic  Poem, 
and  require  a  second  Homer  to  do  him  Justice.  All  this  is 
expressed  in  a  few  Words,  but  ennobled  with  the  Embellish- 
ments of  the  most  sublime  Poetry."     Davidson. 

Agrippa  was  an  important  man  who  had  greatly  distinguished 
himself  as  a  general.  He  wanted  Horace  to  write  an  Ode  in 
his  honor,  and  Horace  does  it,  yet  evades  it.  Evidently  he 
did  not  care  for  Agrippa,  for  he  could  and  did  write  in  the 
high  strain  demanded  by  such  occasions. 

Varius  was  distinguished  as  an  Epic  poet. 

In  strains  majestic,  Varius,  bard  sublime. 

The  glories  of  thy  conquering  arm  shall  sing, 

Thy  feats  on  every  wave,  in  every  clime, 
Borne  on  the  plumes  of  the  Maeonian  wing. 

These  high  exploits,  or  fierce  Achilles'  rage, 
Daunt  the  faint  warbling  of  my  feeble  lyre ; 

Daunt  the  long  labors  of  the  pilgrim  sage : 

Far  humbler  themes  my  humbler  muse  inspire. 

She,  all  unconscious  of  the  enraptured  lays, 
That  swell  the  loudly-sounding  strings  along. 

Nor  thine  presumes,  nor  Caesar's  peerless  praise, 
With  genius  cold  and  unimpassion'd  song. 

What  bard  shall  paint,  unbless'd  with  Homer's  strains. 

In  mail  of  adamant  the  son  of  Jove  ? 
Merion,  embrown'd  with  dust  on  Trojan  plains? 

Tydides,  rival  to  the  powers  above? 

Convivial  joys  my  sportive  muse  requires. 
The  ravish'd  kiss,  the  virgin's  playful  strife ; 

While,  now  at  ease,  now  scorch'd  with  amorous  fire. 
Transition  sweet !  glides  on  my  chequer'd  life. 

Ode  /,  6      Wakefield 


Personal 


65 


TO  HIS  SHIP 

Davidson  thinks  that  this  poem  is  addressed  to  the  ship  that 
brought  Horace  to  Rome,  and  is  now  taking  some  of  his  friends 
back  to  Greece. 

O  Ship  of  state. 
Shall  new  winds  bear  you  back  upon  the  sea? 
What  are  you  doing?     Seek  the  harbor's  lee 

Ere  'tis  too  late ! 

Do  you  bemoan 
Your  side  was  stripped  of  oarage  in  the  blast? 
Swift  Africus  has  weakened,  too,  your  mast; 

The  sailyards  groan. 

Of  cables  bare. 
Your  keel  can  scarce  endure  the  lordly  wave. 
Your  sails  are  rent ;  you  have  no  gods  to  save. 

Or  answer  pray'r. 

Though  Pontic  pine. 
The  noble  daughter  of  a  far-famed  wood. 
You  boast  your  lineage  and  title  good, — 

A  useless  line ! 

The  sailor  there 
In  painted  sterns  no  reassurance  finds; 
Unless  you  owe  derision  to  the  winds. 

Beware — beware ! 


66  Horace :  Quinius  Horatius  Flaccus 

My  grief  erewhile, 

But  now  my  care — my  longing !  shun  the  seas 

That  flow  between  the  Cyclades, 

Each  shining  isle. 

OdeIJ4    KM.  Field 


INVITATION  TO  TYNDARIS 

"This  Ode  is  done  in  such  a  Taste,  as  must  highly  please 
Tyndaris,  not  only  because  it  is  very  natural,  elegant,  and  hill  of 
easy  flowing  Images  and  Elxpressions,  but  likewise  because 
Tyndaris  is  praised  for  her  polite  and  elegant  Education  in  so 
particular  a  Manner,  as  must  distinguish  her  among  her  Sex." 

De  Vere  speaks  with  less  formality  but  more  enthusiasm  upon 
the  perfection  of  this  Ode.  It  is  notable  for  this,  that  Tyndaris 
seems  to  have  been  a  lady,  not  of  the  class  with  Phyllis  and 
Chloe. 

The  God  Pan,  so  Horace  often  says,  loves  to  visit  his  Belds, 
coming  from  Arcadia  to  Mount  Lucretilis. 

Swift-footed  Faunus  oft  delights  to  roam 
From  snow-clad  peaks  of  Arcady,  and  find 
Here  in  my  soft  Lucretilis  a  home, 
Where  in  sequestered  brake 

Safe  from  hot  suns  and  pitiless  wind 
From  ledge  to  ledge  my  nimble  younglings  climb, 
Nipping  fresh  Arbutus  and  fragrant  Thyme, 
Fearless  of  prowling  wolf  or  venom'd  snake, 

While  from  Ustica's  vale  profound 
From  polished  rocks  the  Wood-God's  pipes  resound. 

The  Gods  protect  me.     They  approve 

My  piety :  my  song  they  love. 

Haste,  Tyndaris,  haste !  partake  my  store 


Personal  67 

Of  rural  honours  brimming  o*er 

From  plenteous  horn.     This  cool  retreat 

Shall  guard  thee  from  the  Dogstar*s  heat. 

Here  that  white  hand  the  Teian  lyre  shall  strike ; 

That  sweet  voice  smg  the  old  Greek  melody 

Of  him,  the  wand'ring  Prince  beloved  alike 
By  that  true  wife,  Penelope, 

And  Circe  glittering  as  a  summer  sea. 

Tyndaris !  'neath  the  arching  vine 

Lift  to  thy  lips  the  Lesbian  wine 

An  innocent  draught !      Not  here  shall  Mars 

And  Bacchus  wage  their  customed  wars; 

Not  here  shall  jealous  Cyrus  dare 

To  rend  thy  guiltless  robe,  or  tear 

The  clinging  garland  from  thy  hair, 

Ode  I,  17     DeVere 


TO  ARISTIUS  FUSCUS 

"This  Ode  is  wrote  with  such  Politeness  and  Address,  as 
cannot  be  too  much  admired,"  says  Davidson. 

The  argument  seems  to  be  that  the  Poet  who  sings  well, 
and,  so  to  speak,  righteously,  is  safe  from  harm.  The  thought 
may  appear  disconnected ;  but  there  is  a  theme,  an  incident 
and  an  aspiration. 

Fuscus,  the  man  of  life  upright  and  pure 
Needeth  nor  javelin,  nor  bow  of  Moor, 
Nor  arrows  tipped  with  venom  deadly- sure. 
Loading  his  quiver ; 

Whether  o'er  Afric's  burning  sands  he  rides. 
Or  frosty  Caucasus*  bleak  mountain-sides. 


Iff  ffi 


68  Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Or  wanders  lonely,  where  Hydaspes  glides, 
That  storied  river. 

For  as  1  strayed  along  the  Sabine  wood. 
Singing  my  Lalage  in  careless  mood, 
Lo,  all  at  once  a  wolf  before  me  stood, 
Then  turned  and  fled: 

Creature  so  huge  did  warlike  Daunia  ne'er 
Engender  in  her  forests*  wildest  lair, 
Not  Juba's  land,  parched  nurse  of  lions,  e'er 
Such  monster  bred. 

Place  me,  where  no  life-laden  summer  breeze 
Freshens  the  meads,  or  murmurs  'mongst  the  trees. 
Where  clouds  oppress  and  withering  tempests  freeze 
From  shore  to  shore; 

Place  me  beneath  the  sunbeams*  fiercest  glare. 

On  arid  sands,  no  dwelling  anywhere. 

Still  Lalage* s  sweet  smile,  sweet  voice  e'en  there 

I  will  adore. 

Ode  I,  22     Martin 


il 


"  Integer  vitae  scelerisque  purus, 
Non  eget  Mauri  jacu lis.** 

The  man  upright  of  life  and  free  from  sin  needs  not  the 
javelins  of  the  Moor. 

TO    VIRGIL 

A  LAMENT  FOR  THE  DEATH  OF  QUINCTILIAN 

"There  are  some  Persons  whose  Loss  cannot  be  too  much 
regretted.  But  when  that  Loss  is  irreparable,  we  are  under  a 
Necessity  to  have  Recourse  to  Patience.       Prudence  demands 


ersona 


I 


69 


of  US  with  Resignation  to  part  with  a  Blessing  which  we  can 
no  longer  possess.  Those  are  the  Reflections  which  Horace 
makes  to  Virgil  on  the  Death  of  a  common  Friend."    Davidson. 

Why  blush  at  grief,  or  its  degree 

For  one  so  dear  ?     Melpomene, 

Do  thou  a  mournful  dirge  inspire. 

Thou !  blest  by  Jove  with  voice  and  lyre. 

Say — shall  perpetual  sleep  enshroud 
QuinctiUan  with  such  truth  endowed? 
High-minded — and  so  honest  he — 
When  shall  we  such  another  see? 

By  good  men  is  he  daily  wept; 
By  none  in  deeper  mem*ry  kept 
Than,  Virgil,  thee,  who  ask*st  in  vain 
Quinctilian  from  the  Gods  again. 

For  though  a  sweeter  strain  you  drew. 
Than  woods  from  Orpheus  ever  knew. 
By  Hermes*  rod  once  forced  away. 
The  soul  would  ne*er  rewarm  his  clay. 

All  prayers  to  move  the  Fates  are  vain, 
Hermes  will  still  the  dead  detain. 
'Tis  hard — yet  what  we  can  not  cure. 
We  learn  by  patience  to  endure. 

Ode  /,  24     Ordronaux 


"  Durum :  sed  levius  fit  patientia, 
Quidquid  corrigere  est  nefas.  ** 

The  last  two  lines  of    the    translation    render  this  familiar 
quotation  admirably. 


70  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 


TO  APOLLO  :  HORACE'S  PRAYER 

The  poet  here  refers  to  several  parts  of  Italy.  Calabria  is  in 
the    neighborhood  of  Naples,  and   Liris   is  one   of  the  quiet 

rivers  of  Italy.  ,  .  ,   , ,  i      £    u 

This  is  one  of  the  few  pieces  in  which  Horace  speaks  ot  old 
age,  and  asks  that  it  may  be  granted  him  with  a  sound  mind, 
an  honorable  name,  and  a  capacity  still  to  enjoy  music. 

When,  kneeling  at  Apollo's  shrine 
The  bard  from  silver  goblet  pours 

Libations  due  of  votive  wine, 
What  seeks  he,  what  implores? 

Not  harvests  from  Sardinia's  shore ; 

Not  grateful  herds  that  crop  the  lea 
In  hot  Calabria ;  not  a  store 

Of  gold,  and  ivory ; 

Not  those  fair  lands  where  slow  and  deep 
Thro'  meadows  rich  and  pastures  gay 

Thy  silent  waters,  Liris,  creep 
Eating  the  marge  away. 

Let  him,  to  whom  the  Gods  award 
Calenian  vineyards,  prune  the  vine ; 

The  merchant  sell  his  balms  and  nard. 
And  drain  the  precious  wine 

From  cups  of  gold ;  to  Fortune  dear 
Because  his  laden  argosy 


Personal  71 

Crosses,  unshattered,  thrice  a-year 
The  storm-vexed  Midland  sea. 

Ripe  berries  from  the  olive  bough, 
Mallows  and  endives,  be  my  fare. 

Son  of  Latona  !  Hear  my  vow ; 
Apollo,  grant  my  prayer. 

Health  to  enjoy  the  blessings  sent 

From  heaven ;  a  mind  unclouded,  strong ; 

A  cheerful  heart ;  a  wise  content ; 
An  honoured  age;  and  song. 

Ode  131     De  Vere 


**Precor,  integra 
Cum  menie ;  nee  iurpem  senectam 
Degere,  nee  cithara  earentem.** 

The  last  stanza  renders  well  these  lines. 


TO  HIS  LYRE 

Horace  refers  to  his  priority  in  writing  Latin  lyrics.  The  Poet 
who  first  strung  the  lyre  in  the  manner  Horace  imitates  was 
Alcaeus,  a  Greek  bom  on  the  island  of  Lesbos.  He  was  also 
a  sailor  and  a  warrior,  who  anchored  his  ships  and  wrote  poetry. 

If  ever,  underneath  the  shade. 

My  careless  fingers  I  have  cast 
Over  thy  strings  and  something  played 

A  year  or  more  to  last, 

Help  me  my  Latin  strain  to  pour, 
O  lyre,  that  first  the  Lesbian  strung, 


n 


72 


Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Who  his  rocked  galley  to  the  shore 
Would  fasten  while  he  sung 

The  Muses,  Bacchus,  Venus  fair. 
And  him  the  boy  who  with  her  flies. 

And  Lycus  with  the  deep  black  hair 
And  with  the  deep  black  eyes. 

Aid  me,  when  I  invoke  thee  right, 

O  thou  that  Phoebus'  glory  art, 
Thou  givest  to  the  gods  delight 

And  sooth'st  the  weary  heart. 

Ode  /,  32     Yardley 


t* . 


O,  lahorum 
Dulce  lenimen. " 

O,  beloved  lightener  of  all  my  labors. 
Horace  here  refers  to  his  lyre,  and  not  to  his  wife. 


TO  HIMSELF 

Horace,  impressed  by  some  display  of  lightning,  returns  to  his 
gods  and  acknowledges  the  power  of  the  Almighty.  Father 
Prout  treats  the  Ode  lightly  ;  but  the  undertone  is.  in  fact,  seri- 
ous and  sincere. 

I,  whom  the  Gods  had  found  a  client, 
Rarely  with  pious  rites  compliant, 
At  unbelief  disposed  to  nibble, 
And  pleased  with  every  sophist  quibble 


I,  who  had  deemed  great  Jove  a  phantom. 
Now  own  my  errors,  and  recant  'em ! 


STATUE  OF  HORACE,  BY  A.  D'ORSI 
Standing  in  the  Piazza  Orazio  in  Venosa 


;   ;'f '^•MBlk 


72  Horace :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Who  his  rocked  galley  to  the  shore 
Would  fasten  while  he  sung 

The  Muses,  Bacchus,  Venus  fair. 

And  him  the  boy  who  with  her  flies, 

And  Lycus  with  the  deep  black  hair 
And  with  the  deep  black  eyes. 

Aid  me,  when  I  invoke  thee  right, 
O  thou  that  Phoebus'  glory  art, 

Thou  givest  to  the  gods  delight 
And  sooth*st  the  weary  heart. 

Od/e  /.  32      Yardley 


"O,  lahorum 
Dulce  lenimen.  " 

O,  beloved  lightener  of  all  my  labors. 
Horace  here  refers  to  his  lyre,  and  not  to  his  wife. 


TO  HIMSELF 

Horace,  impressed  by  some  display  of  lightning,  returns  to  his 
gods  and  acknowledges  the  power  of  the  Almighty.  Father 
Prout  treats  the  Ode  lightly  ;  but  the  undertone  is,  in  fact,  seri- 
ous and  sincere. 

I,  whom  the  Gods  had  found  a  client. 

Rarely  with  pious  rites  compliant. 

At  unbelief  disposed  to  nibble, 

And  pleased  with  every  sophist  quibble — 

I,  who  had  deemed  great  Jove  a  phantom. 

Now  own  my  errors,  and  recant  'em ! 


STATUE  OF   HORACE,   BY  A.   D'ORSI 
Standing  in  the  Piazza  Orazio  in  Venosa 


Personal 

Have  I  not  lived  of  late  to  witness, 
Athwart  a  sky  of  passing  brightness, 
The  God,  upon  his  car  of  thunder. 
Cleave  the  calm  elements  asunder  ? 
And,  through  the  firmament  careering. 
Level  his  bolts  with  aim  unerring  ? 


73 


Then  trembled  Earth  with  sudden  shiver ; 
Then  quaked  with  fear  each  mount  and  river ; 
Stunned  at  the  blow.  Hell  reeled  a  minute, 
With  all  the  darksome  caves  within  it ; 
And  Atlas  seemed  as  he  would  totter 
Beneath  his  load  of  land  and  water ! 

Yes !  of  a  God  I  hail  the  guidance ; 

The  proud  are  humbled  at  his  biddance ; 

Fortune,  his  handmaid,  now  uplifting 

Monarchs,  and  now  the  scepter  shifting. 

With  equal  proof  his  power  evinces. 

Whether  she  raise  or  ruin  princes. 

Ode  I,  34     Mahoney 


iti 


"  Parous  Deorem  cultor  et  infrequens. " 
A  grudging  and  infrequent  worshipper  of  the  Gods. 

**  Valet  ima  summis 
Mutare,  et  imignem  attenuat  Deus, 
Obscura  promens.  ** 
God  can    change  the    lowest  to  the  highest,  dethrone  the 
mighty  and  raise  the  obscure. 


74  Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 


TO   HIS   VALET 

**  There  is  nothing  remarkable  in  this  Ode,  either  for  its 
Subject  or  Composition.  It  is  more  like  an  extemporary 
Roundle  than  an  Ode.**  Thus  speaks  Davidson.  Yet  hardly 
any  Ode  of  Horace's  has  been  translated  and  paraphrased  by 
so  many  distinguished  hands.  Hartley  Coleridge  has  given  an 
excellent  version,  and  Thackeray  a  charming  psiraphrase. 

Nay,  nay,  my  boy — 'tis  not  for  me, 

This  studious  pomp  of  Eastern  luxury; 
Give  me  no  various  garlands — fine 

With  linden  twine, 
Nor  seek,  where  latest  lingering  blows 

The  solitary  rose. 

Elamest  I  beg — add  not  with  toilsome  pain. 
One  far-sought  blossom  to  the  myrtle  plain. 
For  sure,  the  fragrant  myrtle  bough 
Looks  seemliest  on  thy  brow; 
Nor  me  mis-seems,  while,  underneath  the  vine. 
Close  interweaved,  I  quaff  the  rosy  wine. 

Ode  I,  38     Coleridge 


THE  SAME— PARAPHRASED 

Dear  Lucy,  you  know  what  my  wish  is, — 

I  hate  all  your  Frenchified  fuss : 
Your  silly  entrees  and  made  dishes 

Were  never  intended  for  us. 
No  footman  in  lace  and  in  ruffles 

Need  dangle  behind  my  arm-chair ; 
And  never  mind  seeking  for  truffles. 

Although  they  be  ever  so  rare. 


•;     I 


Personal 


75 


But  a  plain  leg  of  mutton,  my  Lucy, 

1  prithee  get  ready  at  three : 
Have  it  smoking,  and  tender  and  juicy. 

And  what  better  meat  can  there  be  ? 
And  when  it  has  feasted  the  master 

*Twill  amply  suffice  for  the  maid ; 
Meanwhile  1  will  smoke  my  canaster 

And  tipple  my  ale  in  the  shade. 

Ode  I,  38     Thackeray) 


'*Persicos,  odi,  puer,  apparatus.*' 
"  Boy,  I  detest  all  Persian  fopperies,"  is  Cowper's  translation. 


TO  POMPEIUS  VARUS 

Horace  was  companion  in  arms  with  Pompey  the  Younger 
at  the  battle  of  Philippi.  Now,  after  three  years,  an  amnesty 
is  granted  and  Pompey  returns  to  Rome  and  his  friends. 
Horace  tells  something  of  his  experience  in  arms,  and  is  willing 
to  get  as  drunk  as  any  Thracian  on  the  occasion  of  greeting  his 
oldest  friend. 

Often  to  the  brink  of  time 

Dragged  down  with  me  at  Brutus'  heel, 
Who  lets  thee  like  thy  fathers  kneel 

A  Roman  in  the  Roman's  chme. 

First  of  my  friends,  Pompeius  ?     Oft 

Our  love-cups  chased  the  lingering  hours 
The  while  we  rested,  wreathing  flowers 

On  locks  with  spikenard  sheen  and  soft. 

Emathia's  panic-stricken  strife 

With  thee  1  shared,  and  cast  aside 

My  targe  where  courage  quailed,  and  pride 

Lipped  the  vile  dust  and  prayed  for  life. 


5  J 


/ 


76         Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Me  from  my  foes  Mercurius  plucked, 

Clothing  in  cloud  my  trembling  form ; 
Thee  backward  to  the  central  storm 

The  draught  of  ebbing  battle  sucked. 

Then  feast  great  Jove,  whose  work  it  is : 
And  since  my  laurels,  too,  are  green, 
There  rest  thee,  worn  with  service  seen, 

And  drain  the  wine-cask  kept  for  this. 

With  restful  Massic  lulling  grief 

Brim  the  bright  goblets ;  pour  me  down 
The  full  shell's  fragrance;  speed  the  crown 

Of  parsley  fresh  or  myrtle  leaf. 

Venus,  what  monarch  of  the  board 

Wilt  send  us  ?     Deep  shall  be  my  draught 

As  ever  Thracian  bacchant  quaffed : 

Folly  is  sweet  o*er  friends  restored ! 

Ode  II,  7     Clark 


**Recepto 
Dulce  mihi  furere  est  amico. " 

*Tis  sweet  to  me  to  indulge  a  bit  when  a  friend  returns. 


TO  MAECENAS 

"  Horace  in  this  Ode,  prays  Maecenas,  who  was  an  invalid, 
no  more  to  dispirit  him  by  mournful  and  afflicting  Discourses, 
declares  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  survive  him ;  and 
lastly,  to  remove  gloomy  Apprehensions,  he  proposes,  that  they 
shall  each  of  them  renew  their  Sacrifices  to  the  Gods,  in  return 
for  their  Care  and  Goodness."     Davidson. 

There  is  pathos  and  sincerity  in  this  Ode,  such  as  Horace 


i 


Personal 


77 


P 


does  not  often  show.  He  makes  here  a  prophecy  which  was 
fulfilled,  for  his  death  occurred  only  three  weeks  after  that  ot 
Maecenas. 

Why  wilt  thou  worry  me  with  that  stale  cry 
Foreboding  ill?     Neither  the  gods  nor  I 
Can  suffer  thee  to  die,  dear  friend : 
On  whom  my  joy  and  hopes  depend. 
If  one  half  of  my  soul  some  Fate  unkind 
Should  seize,  how  could  the  other  stay  behind  ? 
No  longer  worthy  love,  a  soul 
No  more  one  smooth  harmonious  whole. 
The  last  long  journey  both  at  once  we  II  take : 
The  solemn  oath  1  swore,  I  will  not  break : 
Whene  er  thou  goest,  I  will  go ; 
Hand  locked  in  hand,  we  II  face  the  foe. 

Not  the  Chimaera's  levin-laden  breath. 

Not  hundred-handed  Gyas  raised  from  death. 

From  thee  could  sever  me,  for  these 

Are  Themis*  and  the  Fates'  decrees. 
I  know  not  whether  Libra's  kindly  power. 
Or  Scorpio's  hate  beheld  my  natal  hour. 

Or  Capricorn,  who  baleful  laves 

His  lurid  light  in  western  waves. 
But  in  most  wondrous  sort  our  stars  agree. 
From  Saturn's  dark  design,  but  lately  thee 

The  succour  of  the  god  of  light 

Preserved,  and  stayed  the  hurried  flight 
Of  Death ;  when  all  the  theatre's  glad  crpwd 
Thy  coming  hailed,  and  "  Vivat "  cried  aloud 

Thrice  over.     1  had  surely  died. 


li 


11 


/ 


■f  * 


78  Horace :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Had  not  the  tree  been  turned  aside 
By  Faunus,  who  holds  all  us  scribblers  dear. 
Wherefore  do  thou  for  thanks  a  temple  rear, 

And  hecatombs  of  oxen  slay : 
A  lamb  my  humbler  debt  shall  pay. 

Ode  II,  17     Martin 


TO  A  MISER 

This,  says  DeVere,  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  pieces  of 
antiquity.  Horace  depicts  his  own  simple  life  and  attacks  the 
avarice  of  the  rich  who  were  lawlessly  encroaching  on  the  rights 
of  the  poor.  It  is  the  only  Ode  in  which  he  shows  specifically 
his  sympathy  with  the  down-trodden. 

Nor  gold,  nor  ivory  inlaid, 

Nor  cedars  from  Hymettus  torn, 
Nor  Libyan  marble  colonnade. 

My  humble  home  adorn. 

No  Spartan  purples  deftly  wrought 
By  client  hands  enrich  my  house ; 

An  heir  unknown,  I  have  not  sought 
The  wealth  of  Attalus. 

Simple  and  true  1  share  with  all 

The  treasures  of  a  kindly  mind ; 
And  in  my  cottage,  poor  and  small, 

The  great  a  welcome  find. 

I  vex  not  Gods,  or  patron  friend. 
For  larger  gifts,  or  ampler  store; 


Personal 

My  modest  Sabine  farm  can  lend 
All  that  I  want,  and  more. 

Day  treads  on  day ;  year  chases  year ; 

Succeeding  moons  are  born  to  die ; 
You,  heedless  of  the  tomb,  uprear 

Your  maf ble  halls  on  high : 


79 


The  waters  that  at  Baiae  s  feet 
Their  angry  surges  rolled  of  yore. 

Usurped  by  upstart  walls,  retreat. 
And  wash  those  sands  no  more. 

Your  hand  has  dared  to  violate 
Old  landmarks  in  its  guilty  rage. 

And  clutched,  v^th  greed  insatiate. 
The  poor  man*s  heritage. 

From  fireless  hearths,  unroofed  abodes, 
The  exiled  sire,  and  wife,  depart, 

Their  tear-stained  babes,  and  household  Gods 
Close  folded  to  their  heart. 

What  halls  the  tyrant  lord  await  ? — 
The  mansion  of  the  nameless  dead: — 

By  equal  law  o*er  mean  and  great 
Earth's  ample  arms  are  spread. 

Not  power,  not  craft,  not  proffered  gold, 
From  Orcus  could  Prometheus  free : 

Tartarean  glooms  for  ever  hold 
The  proud  Pelopidae. 


If 


i.;  .^.■ihMSlUik.'Mt^liliQLsl,!^ 


I 


80 


Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Death  grasps  the  strong,  the  rich,  the  wise, 

The  sons  of  kings,  in  bond  secure : 

Sought  or  unsought.  Death  hears  the  cries 

Of  th'  overlaboured  poor. 

Ode  II,  18     DeVere 


'*  Nihil  supra 

Deos  lacesso 

Satis  beatus  unicis  Sabinis.  ** 

I  ask  nothing  more  of  the  Gods,  happy  enough  writh  my 
little  Sabine  farm. 


.  I 


: 


1 


*i 


TO  THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  BANDUSIA 

This  is  one  of  the  greatly  praised  and  oft-translated  Odes. 
Horace  dedares  Bandusia  shall  be  one  of  the  famous  fountams 
of  the  world  through  his  song.  The  fountain  was  either  near 
his  native  village,  Venusium,  or  his  Sabme  Farm  at  Licenza. 
The  sentiment  of  the  first  part  of  the  poem  is  very  pagan  and 
rather  repulsive,  but  the  finish  atones  for  it. 

O  babbling  Spring,  than  glass  more  clear, 
Worthy  of  wreath  and  cup  sincere. 

To-morrow  shall  a  kid  be  thine 

With  swelled  and  spreading  brows  for  sign, — 
Sure  sign! — of  loves  and  battle  near. 
Child  of  the  race  that  butt  and  rear ! 
Not  less,  alas !  his  life-blood  dear 

Shall  tinge  thy  cold  wave  crystalline, 

O  babbling  Spring ! 


\Z', 


Personal  SI 

Thee  Sirius  knows  not.     Thou  dost  cheer 
With  pleasant  cool  the  plough-worn  steer, — 
The  wandering  flock.     This  verse  of  mine 
Shall  rank  thee  one  with  founts  divine ; 
Men  shall  thy  rock  and  tree  revere, 

O  babbling  Spring ! 
Ode  III  13     Dobson 


THE  SAME:    ANOTHER   VERSION 

O  Fountain  of  Bandusia ! 

Whence  crystal  waters  flow. 
With  garlands  gay  and  wine  111  pay 

The  sacrifice  I  owe; 
A  sportive  kid  with  budding  horns 

1  have,  whose  crimson  blood 
Anon  shall  dye  and  sanctify 

Thy  cool  and  babbling  flood. 

O  Fountain  of  Bandusia ! 

The  Dog-star's  hateful  spell 
No  evil  brings  into  the  springs 

That  from  thy  bosom  well ; 
Here  oxen,  wearied  by  the  plow, 

The  roving  cattle  here 
Hasten  in  quest  of  certain  rest. 

And  quaff  thy  gracious  cheer. 

O  Fountain  of  Bandusia ! 
Ennobled  shalt  thou  be, 


J 


n 


A,  • 
-!■    ,    . 

11 


82  Horace :  Quinius  Horatius  Flaccus 

For  I  shall  sing  the  joys  that  spring 

Beneath  yon  ilex-tree. 
Yes,  fountain  of  Bandusia, 

Posterity  shall  know 
The  cooling  brooks  that  from  thy  nooks 

Singing  and  dancing  go. 

Ode  III,  13     E.  Field 


ersonai 


83 


THE  PRAYER: 


(( 


TO    FAUNUS 

Horace  was  fond  of  the  God  Pan  or  Faunus,  and  appeared 
to  believe  that  the  deity  took  kindly  care  of  his  estate.  He 
asks  him  now  to  be  propitious  to  his  flock. 

Fond  wooer  whom  the  Dryad  flees. 

Across  my  realm  of  sunny  leas 
Come,  Faun,  in  blessing,  part  in  peace. 

Nor  harm  my  weanling  fold, 
If  kids  I  give  each  ended  year. 
And  brim  the  bowl  to  Venus  dear ; 
And  many  a  fragrance  for  thy  cheer 

Steam  from  thine  altar  old. 

The  herds  are  glad  on  pastures  sweet. 
The  village  merry-makers  meet, 
Idling  with  idle  steers,  to  greet 

Thy  dear  December  Nones : 
'Mid  fearless  lambs  the  grim  wolves  stray; 
Wild  woods  their  wealth  before  thee  lay ; 
The  delver  dancing  spurns  the  clay. 

The  only  foe  he  owns. 

Ode  III,  18     Clark 


Faune,  Nympharum  fugientum  amator. 
Per  meos  fines  et  aprica  rura 
Lenis  incedas  abeasque  parvis 
Aequus  alumnis." 

O  Faunus,  lover  of  the  fleeing  Nymphs,  smile  upon  my 
borders  and  sunny  fields  as  you  wander  thro'  them,  and  depart 
with  thoughts  propitious  to  my  growing  plants. 


HORACE'S  APOSTROPHE  TO  HIS  OWN  FAME 

I've  reared  a  fame  outlasting  brass, 

Which  in  its  more  than  kingly  height 
Shall  Egypt's  Pyramids  surpass. 

Unharmed  by  countless  seasons'  flight. 
The  wasting  rain,  the  North  wind's  rage, 

On  it  shall  leave  no  lasting  trace, 
Nor  shall  it  e'er  grow  dim  with  age. 

While  time  runs  his  unfinished  race. 
Not  all  of  me  shall  die.     For  Death, 

Though  he  should  still  my  beating  heart 
Takes  but  a  fragment  with  my  breath. 

And  leaves  untouched  the  greater  part. 
My  fame,  by  future  ages  still 

Shall  be  renewed  from  day  to  day, 
While  up  the  Capitolian  hill. 

Both  Priest  and  Vestal  take  their  way. 
Where  Aufidus  with  rapid  wave. 

Sweeps  on,  and  droughty  Daunus  rolls 


ji 

if 

I* 


J 


1^       I 


If  I 

m 


lit 


'    1     i 


:! 


84 


Horace :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

A  sluggish  stream  that  scarce  can  lave 

The  land  of  rustics  he  controls ; 
Raised  from  my  former  low  degree, 

All  future  nations  shall  rehearse 
The  glorious  union  due  to  me, 

Of  Latin  with  Aeolic  verse. 
Then  wear,  Melpomene,  with  pride. 

The  mien  your  merits  high  should  bear. 
And  weave,  by  willing  fingers  tied. 

The  Delphian  laurel  in  my  hair. 

Ode  III,  30     Ordronaux 


**Exegi  monumentum  acre  perennius. 
I  have  built  to  myself  a  monument  more  enduring  than  bronze. 

**Non  omnis  mortar. " 
I  shall  not  altogether  die. 

**  Usque  ego  postera 
Crescam  laude  recens. " 

My  fame  shall  ever  increase,  and  praises  new  shall  ever  be 
mine. 

TO  MELPOMENE 

Horace  declares  he  was  not  bom  for  athletics,  but  for  poetry, 
to  which  his  immortality  is  entirely  due. 

He,  on  whose  natal  hour  you  glance 

A  single  smile  with  partial  eyes, 
Melpomene,  shall  not  advance 

A  champion  for  th*  Olympic  prize, 
Nor  drawn  by  steeds  of  manag'd  pride, 
In  Grecian  car  victorious  ride. 


f 


Personal 

Nor  honour'd  with  the  Delphic  leaf, 
A  wreath  for  high  achievements  wove. 

Shall  he  be  shewn  triumphant  chief, 
Where  stands  the  Capitol  of  Jove, 

As  justly  rais'd  to  such  renown 

For  bringing  boastful  tyrants  down. 

But  pleasing  streams,  that  flow  before 
Fair  Tibur's  flow'ry -fertile  land 

And  bow'ring  trees  upon  the  shore 
Which  in  such  seemly  order  stand. 

Shall  form  on  that  Folic  plan 

The  bard,  and  magnify  the  man. 

The  world's  metropolis  has  deign*d 
To  place  me  with  her  dading  care, 

Rome  has  my  dignity  maintain*d 

Amongst  her  bards  my  bays  to  wear ; 

And  hence  it  is  against  my  verse 

The  tooth  of  envy's  not  so  fierce. 

O  mistress  of  the  golden  shell ! 

Whose  silence  you  command,  or  break; 
Thou  that  canst  make  the  mute  excel. 

And  ev'n  the  sea-born  reptiles  speak ; 
And,  like  the  swan,  if  you  apply 
Your  touch,  in  charming  accents  die. 

This  is  thy  gift,  and  only  thine. 
That,  as  I  pass  along,  I  hear — 


85 


I 


!l 


86 


Horace :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

"  There  goes  the  bard,  whose  sweet  design 

Made  lyricks  for  the  Roman  ear. " 
If  life  or  joy  I  hold  or  give, 
By  thee  I  please,  by  thee  I  live. 

Ode  IV,  3     Smart 


**Quod  spiro  et  placeo,  si  placeo,  tuum  est. 
That  1  breathe  and  give  pleasure,  if  I  do  give  pleasure,  is  due 
to  you,  O  Muse. 

*'Monstror  digito  praetereuntium.  *' 
1  am  pointed  out  by  the  fingers  of  the  passers  by. 

TO  MAECENAS 

Horace  replies  to  a  complaint  from  Maecenas,  that  he  has  not 
yet  got  that  promised  poem.  His  excuse  is  that  he  is  in  love 
with  Phryne,  or  as  he  puts  it,  "A  god,  a  god  forbids  me  to  finish 
my  iambic."  Other  great  poets  have  been  in  the  same  plight. 
Anacreon  "wept  his  love  upon  the  hollow  lyre." 

Mr.  Way  has  caught  the  tune  but  not  the  words  in  the  fol- 
lowing lines.     He  prefixes  to  his  translation  this  Explanation : 

"The  gods  not  having  made  Maecenas  poetical,  he  could  not 
be  brought  to  understand  that  the  fount  of  inspiration  is  not 
perennial.  Horace,  having  to  find  some  excuse  for  what  is  of 
Philistines  accounted  idleness,  furnishes  that  which  is  most  likely 
to  be  believed." 

Why  self-indulgent  laziness  should  so  completely  steep 
My  senses  in  forgetfulness,  and  put  the  Muse  to  sleep, 
As  if,  to  slake  a  quenchless  thirst  that  parched  my 

gullet  dry, 
rd  drunk  a  bumper  sleeping-draught — you  daily  ask 

me  why. 
O  my  loyal  friend  you'll  be 
With  your  "  whys, "  the  death  of  me ! 


fet 


Personal  87 

Of  course  it  is  the  God  of  Love  who  stops  the  Muse's 
way. 

The  poems  long  begun. 

Long  promised,  never  done — 
I  cannot  put  the  final  polish  on  a  single  lay ! 

I'm  not   the   first :    Anacreon   singed,  they    say,  his 

poet-wings 

At  Cupid's  torch;  and  still  the  wail  through  all  his 

music  rings 

That  thrilled  of  old  along  the  chords  that  sobbed  in 

wood  notes  wild 

His  passion  of  despairing  love  for  Samos'  beauteous 

child. 

In  like  unhappy  case 

Are  you ;  no  fairer  face, 

I  grant  you,  burnt  the  topless  towers  of  llion  long  ago. 

Happy  man !     A  pert  soubrette 

Has  caught  me  in  her  net ; 

And  I'm  wasting  to  a  shadow — she  has  two  strings 

to  her  bow ! 

Epodt  XIV,     Way 


ill 


Love  Songs 

And  Odes  to  his  Mistresses 


il  ! 


a  . 


m 


TO    PYRRHA 

Horace  reproaches  and  bids  adieu  to  a  lady  with  whom  he 
has  had  an  experience.  "  Never  did  lover  put  more  grace  into 
his  reproaches,"  says  a  critic. 

We  know  nothing  of  Pyrrha,  save  through  this  poem. 

What  graceful  boy,  dripping  with  rich  perfume 
Wooes  thee  *mong  roses  in  some  grotto's  shade? 

Pyrrha !  for  whom 
Dost  thou  thy  yellow  tresses  braid 
In  simple  neatness  artlessly  arrayed? 
Alas,  how  oft  shall  he  who  credulous  dreams 
That  all  is  Truth  that  truthful  seems, 
Basks  in  thy  sun,  nor  doubts  that  he  alone 
Shall  ever  call  thy  golden  grace  his  own. 
Heedless  of  treacherous  gales,  and  love  not  tried, — 
How  oft  bewail  thy  broken  faith,  and  chide 
The  changeful  Gods,  and  stare  with  wondering  eye 
On  rough  seas  blackening  'neath  a  cloud-swept  sky ! 

Most  miserable  they 
Whom,  falsely  fair,  thou  glitterest  to  betray! 
I,  too,  have  hung  on  Neptune's  hallowed  shrine 
My  picture  vowed,  and  garments  dank  with  brine 
To  that  all-powerful  God  whom  winds  and  waves  obey. 

Ode  I,  5     DeVere 


**  Simplex  munditiis/' 
Plain  in  thy  neatness. 

**  Miseri,  quibus  Inientala  nites  !  ** 
Hapless  are  they  to  whom  unproved  thou  seemest  fair. 


92  Horace :  Quinius  Horatius  Flaccus 


Love  Songs 


93 


TO    LYDIA 

"The  real  Design  of  Horace  in  this  Ode,  is  to  reproach 
Lydia  for  suffering  Sybaris,  who  had  distinguished  himself  in 
manly  Elxercises,  to  live  with  her  in  Softness  and  Elffeminacy; — 
and  this  he  does  in  a  very  beautiful  Manner."      Davidson. 

By  all  the  gods,  O  Lydia, 
How  did  you  get  the  knack 

Of  making  so  domestical 
The  former  agile  Mack? 

He  used  to  be  most  militant 
Patient  of  dust  and  sun, 

He*d  jump  into  cold  Tiber's  tanks 
Soon  as  his  game  was  done. 

He  was  clever  with  the  discus. 
And  when  he  threw  the  dart 

The  people  often  said,  "  this  cus 
Is  really  very  smart." 

He  drove  the  fastest  horses  too. 
And  pulled  the  jagged  bit ; 

When  they  attempted  any  tricks. 
He  simply  would  say  "nit." 

They  once  took  brave  Achilles, 
And  made  of  him  a  nurse, 
,    But  Lydia, — or  Phyllis — 


I  fear  you've  done  Mack  worse. 


II 


Ode  /,  8 


THE  SAME 

Why,  Lydia,  why, 

I  pray  by  all  the  gods  above. 
Art  so  resolved  that  Sybaris  should  die, 

And  all  for  love? 

Why  doth  he  shun 

The  Campus  Martius*  sultry  glare? 
He  that  once  recked  of  neither  dust  nor  sun. 

Why  rides  he  there, 

First  of  the  brave. 

Taming  the  Gallic  steed  no  more? 
Why  doth  he  shrink  from  Tiber's  yellow  wave  ? 

Why  thus  abhor 

The  wresrier's  oil. 

As  'twere  from  viper's  tongue  distilled  ? 
Why  do  his  arms  no  livid  bruises  soil. 

He,  once  so  skilled, 

The  disc  or  dart 

Far,  far  beyond  the  mark  to  hurl  ? 
And  tell  me,  tell  me,  in  what  nook  apart. 

Like  baby-girl, 

Lurks  the  poor  boy. 

Veiling  his  manhood,  as  did  Thetis'  son. 
To  'scape  war's  bloody  clang,  while  fated  Troy 

Was  yet  undone  ? 

Ode  /,  8     Martin 


^snam 


94  Horace :  Quinlus  Horatius  Flaccus 


Love  Songs 


95 


11  i 


TO   CHLOE 

This  poor  poem  has  been  made  charmmg  by  Dobson  and 
most  amusing  by  Field. 

You  shun  me,  Chloe,  wild  and  shy 

As  some  stray  fawn  that  seeks  its  mother 
Through  trackless  woods.     If  spring-winds  sigh 
It  vainly  strives  its  fears  to  smother ; 

Its  trembling  knees  assail  each  other 
When  lizards  stir  the  bramble  dry;  — 
You  shun  me,  Chloe,  wild  and  shy 

As  some  stray  fawn  that  seeks  its  mother. 

And  yet  no  Libyan  lion  I, — - 

No  ravening  thing  to  rend  another ; 

Lay  by  your  tears,  your  tremors  by 
A  Husband's  better  than  a  brother ; 

Nor  shun  me,  Chloe,  wild  and  shy 

As  some  stray  fawn  that  seeks  its  mother. 

Ode  I,  23     Dobson 


A   PARAPHRASE  OF  THE  SAME,  AFTER 

CHAUCER 

Syn  that  you,  Chloe,  to  your  moder  slicken, 
Maketh  all  ye  yonge  bacheloures  full  sicken ; 
Like  as  a  lyttel  deere  you  ben  y-hiding 
Whenas  come  lovers  with  theyre  pityse  chiding. 
Sothly  it  ben  faire  to  give  up  your  moder 
For  to  beare  swete  company  with  some  oder ; 


Your  moder  ben  well  enow  so  farre  shee  goeth. 
But  that  ben  not  farre  enow,  God  knoweth ; 
Wherefore  it  ben  sayed  that  foolysh  ladyes 
That  marrye  not  shall  leade  an  aype  in  Hadys ; 
But  all  that  do  with  gode  men  Wed  hill  quicklye 
When  that  they  be  on  dead  go  to  ye  seints  full  sickerly. 

Ode  I,  23     E.  Field 


TO   LEUCONOE 

"Horace,  according  to  the  Principles  of  his  Philosophy, 
ridicules  the  Practice  of  consulting  Fortune-tellers.  TTie  Piece 
contains  a  vast  deal  of  good  Sense,  within  the  Compass  of  a 
few  Verses,"  says  Davidson. 

Dobson  has  made  of  this  poem  a  villanelle. 

Seek  not,  O  Maid,  to  know, 
(Alas!  unblest  the  trying!) 
When  thou  and  I  must  go. 

No  lore  of  stars  can  show 
What  shall  be,  vainly  prying. 
Seek  not,  O  Maid,  to  know. 

Will  Jove  long  years  bestow? — 
Or  is't  with  this  one  dying. 
That  thou  and  1  must  go ; 

Now, — when  the  great  winds  blow, 
And  waves  the  reef  are  plying? — 
Seek  not,  O  Maid,  to  know. 

Rather  let  clear  wine  flow, 
On  no  vain  hope  relying; 
When  thou  and  I  must  go 


II 

II 


96 


Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Lies  dark;— then  be  it  so. 

Now, — now,  churl  Time  is  flying ; 

Seek  not,  O  Maid,  to  know 

When  thou  and  1  must  go. 

Ode  /,  //     Dohson 


THE  SAME.  ANOTHER  VERSION 

It's  wrong,  Fm  sure,  for  you  and  me, 
To  worry,  dear  Leuconoe, 

About  our  lot — 

If  sad,  or  not ; 
'Tis  better  far  to  bear  our  pains. 
Nor  let  the  summer  storm  and  rains 

Lay  any  toll 

Upon  the  soul. 
Let's  drink  the  wine  our  taste  prefers. 
Forget  exhaustion  of  the  nerves. 

Our  local  ills 

And  nervine  pills; 
Snatch  what  we  can  from  every  day; 
At  least  we're  here,  if  not  to  stay; 

Chill  the  champagne, 

Lest  guests  complain; 
E'en  as  we  talk  the  moments  fly — 

We'll  spend  them  well,  and  then,  good-by. 

Ode  /,  /  / 


"  Carpe  diem  quam  minimum  credula  postero.  ** 
Enjoy  the  present  day  and  utterly  distrust  the  morrow. 


■bw 


hoct  Songs 


97 


HORACE  UPBRAIDS  LYDIA 

Horace  here  attacks  his  old  sweetheart  in  a  most  ungallant 
manner.     The  Ode  is  not  nice,  but  Martin  has  made  it  so. 

Swains  in  numbers 
Break  your  slumbers. 
Saucy  Lydia,  now  but  seldom. 

Ay,  though  at  your  casement  nightly. 
Tapping  loudly,  tapping  lightly. 
By  the  dozen  once  ye  held  them. 

Ever  turning, 
Night  and  morning. 
Swung  your  door  upon  its  hinges ; 

Now,  from  dawn  till  evening's  closing. 
Lone  and  desolate  reposing. 
Not  a  soul  its  rest  infringes. 

Serenaders, 
Sweet  invaders, 
Scanter  grow,  and  daily  scanter. 
Singing,  "Lydia,  art  thou  sleeping? 
Lonely  watch  thy  love  is  keeping ! 
Wake,  oh  wake,  thou  dear  enchanter!" 

Lorn  and  faded 
You,  as  they  did, 
Woo,  and  in  your  turn  are  slighted; 
Worn  and  torn  by  passion's  fret. 


I 

1; 


n 


i 


if' 


98  Horace :  Quinlus  Horatius  Flaccus 

You,  the  pitiless  coquette, 
Waste  by  fires  yourself  have  lighted. 

Late  relenting. 
Left  lamenting — 
"  Withered  leaves  strew  wintry  brooks ! 
Ivy  garlands  greenly  darkling, 
Myitles  brown  with  dewdrops  sparkling. 
Best  beseem  youth's  glowing  locks ! " 

Ode  /.  25     Martin 


TO  VENUS,  QUEEN  OF  CNiDOS 

Come,  Cnidian,  Paphian  Venus,  come. 

Thy  well-beloved  Cyprus  spurn. 
Haste,  where  for  thee  in  Glycera's  home 

Sweet  odours  burn. 
Bring  too  thy  Cupid,  glowing  warm, 

Graces  and  Nymphs,  unzoned  and  free. 

And  Youth,  that  lacking  thee  lacks  charm 

And  Mercury. 

Ode  I,  30     Conington 


i 


THE  RECONCILIATION  WITH  LYDIA 

HE 

While  I  was  Monarch  of  your  Heart, 
Crown'd  with  a  Love  where  none  had  part. 
Each  Mortal  did  with  Envy  die ; 
No  God  but  wished  that  he  were  1. 


Lot?e  Songs  99 

SHE 

While  you  ador'd  no  Charms  but  mine, 
And  vow'd  that  they  did  all  out-shine ; 
More  celebrated  was  my  Name, 
Than  that  of  the  bright  Grecian  Dame. 

HE 
Chloe's  the  Saint  that  I  implore, 
Chloe's  the  Goddess  I  adore. 
For  whom  to  dye  the  Gods  I  pray'd, 
If  Fates  wou'd  spare  the  charming  Maid. 

SHE 
Amyntas  is  my  Lover's  Name, 
For  whom  I  burn  with  mutual  Flame; 
For  whom  I  twice  wou'd  die  with  Joy, 
If  Fates  wou'd  spare  the  charming  Boy. 

HE 
If  I  once  more  shou  d  wear  your  Chain, 
And  take  my  Lydia  back  again ; 
If  banish  Chloe  from  my  Breast, 
That  you  might  there  for  ever  rest. 

SHE 

Tho'  he  is  charming  as  a  God, 
Serene  and  gay,  divinely  good, 
You  rough  as  Billows  raging  high. 
With  you'd  I  chuse  to  live  and  die. 

Ode  III,  9     Roscommon 


♦ 


/  00        Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 


M\ 


m 


TO  PHYLLIS 

An  Alban  cask  of  summers  nine. 
And  parsley  meet  for  chaplet  twine, 
And  ivy  sprays, — thou  art  divine 

When  ivy  braids  thy  locks, — 
These  gifts  are  here  within  my  gate ; 
The  house  is  gay  with  gleaming  plate ; 
And  altars  vervain-wreathed  await 

The  blood  of  slaughtered  flocks. 
And  all  is  bustle ;  to  and  fro 
Each  with  her  lad  the  lasses  go ; 
Its  dusky  curtain  circling  slow 

The  flickering  flame-tongue  rocks. 

But  would'st  thou  know  what  pleasure  bides 
Thine  advent  ?     These  are  April's  Ides, 
What  day  the  holy  month  divides 

Of  Venus  ocean-born. 
A  day  of  worship  and  of  mirth 
As  might  beseem  our  proper  birth ; 
Maecenas'  every  year  on  earth 

Begins  this  blessed  morn. 

Ode  IV J  I     Clark 


**  Minuentur  atrae,  Carmine  curae/ 
Song  smoothes  the  wrinkled  brow  of  care. 


/ 


Invocations  to  Bacchus 

And  Songs  of  the  Country  and  the  Seasons 


Ik  I 


f4. 


TO  LUCIUS  SESTIUS 

"  Though  the  subject  of  this  Ode  is  common,  Horace's  man- 
ner of  treating  it  is  far  from  being  so.  A  Gayety  of  Spirit 
under  an  Air  of  Seriousness  appears  thro'  the  whole."  David- 
son. 

This  is  a  poem  to  Spring.  Spring  began,  according  to  the 
Roman  Calendar,  on  February  7th,  and  the  Festival  of  the 
Dead  began  on  the  1  3th,  ending  with  the  Feralia  on  the  2  I  st. 
Hence  it  does  not  seem  incongruous  that  Horace  should  pass 
quickly  from  Nymphs  and  Graces  to  the  Shades  and  the  Man- 
sions of  Pluto.  Lucius  Sestius  was  a  soldier  with  Horace  under 
Brutus. 

The  western  breeze  is  springing  up,  the  ships  are  in  the 

bay, 
And  spring  has   brought  a  happy  change  as  winter 

melts  away. 
No  more  in  stall  or  fire  the  herd  or  plowman  finds 

delight; 
No  longer  with  the  biting  frosts  the  open  fields  are 

white. 


Our    Lady  of  Cythera    now    prepares    to    lead    the 

dance, 
While  from  above  the  kindly  moon  gives  an  approving 

glance ; 
The  Nymphs  and  comely  Graces  join  with  Venus 

and  the  choir, 
And  Vulcan's  glowing  fancy  lightly  turns  to  thoughts 

of  fire. 


H 
'i 


/  06        Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Now  it  is  time  with  myrtle  green  to  crown  the  shining 

pate, 
And  with  the  early  blossoms  of  the  spring  to  decorate; 
To  sacrifice  to  Faunus,  on  whose  favor  we  rely, 
A  sprightly  lamb,  mayhap  a  kid,  as  he  may  specify. 

Impartially  the  feet  of  Death  at  huts  and  castles  strike ; 

The  influenza  carries  off  the  rich  and  poor  alike. 

O  Sestius,  though  bles't  you  are  beyond  the  common 

run, 
Life  is  too  short  to  cherish  e'en  a  distant  hope  begun. 

The  Shades  and  Pluto's  mansion  follow  hard  upon  the 

grip- 
Once  there  you  cannot  throw  the  dice,  nor  taste  the 

wine  you  sip; 
Nor  look   on  blooming  Lycidas,  whose   beauty  you 

commend. 
To  whom  the  girls  will  presently  their  courtesies  extend. 

Ode  /,  4    R.  M.  Field 


"Pallida  Mors  aequo  pulsat  pede  pauperum  tabernas 
Regumque  turres.** 
Pale  death,  with  impartial  foot,  strikes  at  the  huts  of  the  poor 
and  the  palaces  of  the  rich. 

"Vitae  summa  brevis  spem  nos  vetat  inchoare  longam." 

The  short  span  of  life  forbids  us  to  form  plans  for  the  distant 
future. 


"Pallida  mors  aequo  pulsat  pede  pauperiun  tabernas 
Regumque  turres." 

Ode  I,  4. 

With  equal  Fool,  rich  Friend,  impartial  Fate 
Knocks  at  the  Cottage  and  the  Palace  Gate. 


/  06        Horace :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Now  it  is  time  with  myrtle  green  to  crown  the  shining 

pate, 
And  with  the  early  blossoms  of  the  spring  to  decorate ; 
To  sacrifice  to  F  aunus,  on  whose  favor  we  rely, 
A  sprightly  lamb,  mayhap  a  kid,  as  he  may  specify. 

Impartially  the  feet  of  Death  at  huts  and  castles  strike ; 

The  influenza  carries  off  the  rich  and  poor  alike. 

O  Sestius,  though  bles*t  you  are  beyond  the  common 

run, 
Life  is  too  short  to  cherish  e'en  a  distant  hope  begun. 

The  Shades  and  Pluto*s  mansion  follow  hard  upon  the 

grip. 
Once  there  you  cannot  throw  the  dice,  nor  taste  the 

wine  you  sip; 
Nor  look   on  blooming  Lycidas,  whose    beauty  you 

commend. 
To  whom  the  girls  will  presently  their  courtesies  extend. 

Ode  /,  4    R  M.  Field 


*' Pallida  Mors  aequo  pulsat  pede  pauperum  tabernas 
Regumque  tunes." 
Pale  death,  with  impartial  foot,  strikes  at  the  huts  of  the  poor 
and  the  palaces  of  the  rich. 

**Vitae  summa  brevis  spem  nos  vetat  inchoare  longam. 

The  short  span  of  life  forbids  us  to  form  plans  for  the  distant 
future. 


"Pallida  mors  aequo  pulsat  pede  pauperum  tabernas 
Regumque   turres." 

Ode  I,  4. 

With  equal  Foot,  rich  Friend,  impartial   Fate 
Knocks  at  the  Cottage  and  the   Palace  Gate. 


Inoocations  to  Bacchus 


107 


E> 


TO  M.  PLANCUS. 

"This  Ode,  the  Verses  of  which  are  veof  fine,  and  therefore 
not  less  excellent  than  any  of  the  former  Odes,"  is  Davidsons 
introduction.  The  reader  here  needs  his  geography.  1  he 
cities  first  mentioned  are  all  in  Greece.  Horace  then  brmgs 
the  reader  to  Italy,  and  expresses  his  preference  for  1  ibur  a 
suburb  of  Rome.     Then  follows  advice  to  cheer  up.  with  the 

illustrative  Story  of  Teucer.  .       t  ^  u- 

Plancus  was  a  Roman  general  of  varying  fortune.  He 
fought  under  Antony,  but  later  went  over  to  Augustus.  He 
had  been  of  help  to  Horace,  and  the  poet  wrote  to  cheer  him, 
as  he  had  recently  suffered  defeat  at  the  hands  of  the 
Parthians. 

Rhodes,  Ephesus,  or  Mytilene, 

Or  Thessaly's  fair  valley, 
Or  Corinth,  placed  two  gulfs  atween, 
Delphi,  or  Thebes,  suggest  the  scene 

Where  some  would  choose  to  dally ; 
Others  in  praise  of  Athens  launch, 

And  poets  lyric 
Grace,  with  Minerva's  olive-branch. 

Their  panegyric. 


'  { 


To  Juno's  city  some  would  roam 
Argos — of  steeds  productive; 
In  rich  Mycenae  make  their  home. 
Or  find  Larissa  pleasantsome. 
Or  Sparta  deem  seductive ; 


£ 


/  08        Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Me,  Tibur's  grove  charms  more  than  all 
The  brook's  bright  bosom, 

And  o*er  loud  Anio's  waterfall 
Fruit-trees  in  blossom. 


Plancus !  do  blasts  forever  sweep 
Athwart  the  welkin  rancoured  ? 
Friend!  do  the  clouds  forever  weep? 


Then  cheer  thee !  and  thy  sorrows  deep 

Drown  in  a  flowing  tankard ! 
Whether  "  the  camp !  the  field !  the  sword ! " 

Be  still  thy  motto. 
Or  Tibur  to  thy  choice  afford 

A  sheltered  grotto. 

When  Teucer  from  his  father's  frown 

For  exile  parted. 
Wreathing  his  brow  with  poplar-crown, 
In  wine  he  bade  his  comrades  drown 

Their  woes  light-hearted ; 
And  thus  he  cried.  Whatever  betide, 

Hope  shall  not  leave  me : 
The  home  a  father  hath  denied 

Let  Fortune  give  me ! 

Who  doubts  or  dreads  if  Teucer  lead? 

Hath  not  Apollo 
A  new-found  Salamis  decreed. 
Old  Fatherland  shall  supersede? 

Then  fearless  follow. 


Invocations  to  Bacchus  1 09 

Ye  who  could  bear  ten  years  your  share 

Of  toil  and  slaughter, 

Drink !  for  our  sail  to-morrow's  gale 

Wafts  o'er  the  water. 

Ode  /,  7     Mahoney 


**  Nil  desperandum  Teucro  duce.  '* 
Nothing  is  hopeless,  with  Teucer  as  leader. 

**  Nunc  vino  pellite  curas : 
Cras  ingens  iterabimus  aequor. 


Now  with  wine  chase  away  care;  to-morrow  we  wi 
anew  the  boundless  main. 


ill  sail 


TO  THALIARCHUS 

This  is  called  a  Winter  Ode,  and  is  supposed  to  have  been 
written  at  the  country  house  of  Thaliarchus,  which  was  in  sight 
of  Mt.  Soracte.  G)ngreve  turned  its  few  verses  into  a  long 
poem  of  moderate  merit.  We  print  only  the  second  and  third 
of  his  four  stanzas.  The  paraphrase  by  H.  C.  M.  is  better. 
We  know  nothing  of  Thaliarchus. 

Diffusive  Cold  does  the  whole  Earth  invade. 
Like  a  Disease,  through  all  its  Veins  'tis  spread, 
And  each  late  living  Stream  is  num'd  and  dead. 
Let's  melt  the  frozen  Hours,  make  warm  the  Air ; 
Let  cheerful  Fires  Sol's  feeble  Beams  repair ; 
Fill  the  large  Bowl  with  sparkling  Wine, 
Let's  drink  till  our  own  Faces  shine 
Till  we  like  Suns  appear. 
To  light  and  warm  the  Hemisphere. 


[ 
I 


!  i 


i 


h 


110        Horace :  Quintus  H or  alius  Flaccus 

Wine  can  dispence  to  all  both  Light  and  Heat, 

They  are  with  Wine  incorporate: 

That  powVful  Juice,  with  which  no  Cold  dares  mix. 

Which  still  is  fluid,  and  no  Frost  can  fix : 

Let  that  but  in  abundance  flow. 

And  let  it  storm  and  thunder,  hail  and  snow, 

'Tis  Heav'n's  Concern,  and  let  it  be 

The  Care  of  Heaven  still  for  me : 

These  Winds  which  rend  the  Oaks  and  plough  the 

Seas, 
Great  Jove  can,  if  he  please. 
With  one  commanding  Nod  appease. 


Seek  not  to  know  to-Morrow's  Doom ; 

That  is  not  ours  which  is  to  come. 

The  present  Moment's  all  our  store : 

The  next,  shou'd  Heav*n  allow. 

Then  this  will  be  no  more: 

So  all  our  Life  is  but  one  Instant  Now. 

Look  on  each  Day  you've  past 

To  be  a  mighty  Treasure  won : 

And  lay  each  Moment  out  in  haste ; 

We're  sure  to  live  too  fast. 

And  cannot  live  too  soon. 

Youth  does  a  thousand  Pleasures  bring, 

Which  from  decrepit  Age  will  fly ; 

Sweets  that  wanton  i'  th'  Bosom  of  the  Spring, 

In  Winter's  cold  Embraces  dye. 

Ode  /,  9     Congreve 


Invocations  to  Bacchus 


III 


TO  THALIARCHUS.  ANOTHER  VERSION 

This  paraphrase  appeared  in  a  daily  paper  under  the  title 
"  Horace's  Ghost ",  and  signed  "  H.  C.  M." 

H«  Ivellyn's  height  with  snow  is  white, 
The  forest  branches  bow  and  splinter ; 

No  ripple  breaks  the  frozen  lakes. 

Then  shut  my  door  on  Cold  and  Winter. 


On  my  hearth-dogs  pile  up  the  logs 


Pile  high,  my  boy ;  and  down  your  throtde 
Right  freely  pour  my  "  thirty-four, " 
And  never  spare  the  old  man's  bottle. 

Leave  all  the  rest  to  Him  who  best 

Knows  how  to  still  the  roar  of  Ocean ; 

To  calm  the  wind  in  wildest  mind. 
And  hush  the  leaflet's  lightest  motion. 

• 

Fear  not  to  stay  upon  the  day, 

And  count  for  gain  each  happy  pleasure ; 
Be  not  above  the  game  of  Love, 

And  featly  tread  the  Christmas  measure. 

Let  blood  run  cold  when  life  grows  old, 
Stick  now  to  skate  and  tennis-racquet. 

Till  westward-ho  the  sun- wheels  go. 

Then  join  the  sports  of  frock  and  jacket. 


112        Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccm 

When  bright  eyes  smile,  laugh  back  the  while, 
And  find  the  nook  where  Beauty  lingers ; 

Steal  golden  charm  from  rounded  arm, 
Half-given,  half-held,  by  fairy  fingers. 

Ode  1,9    H.C.M. 


TO  VARUS 

"  The  Moral  is  the  very  soul  of  this  Piece.  In  it  the  Poet 
recommends  the  moderate  use  of  Wine,"  says  Davidson. 

Varus  was  a  poet  and  friend  of  Horace  and  Virgil.  "  Father 
Prout"  has  made  a  lively  "round"  of  the  poem. 

Since  at  Tivoli,  Varus,  you've  fixed  upon  planting 

Round  your  villa  enchanting. 
Of  all  trees,  O  my  friend !  let  the  vine  be  the  first. 

On  no  other  condition  will  Jove  lend  assistance 

To  keep  at  a  distance 
Chagrin,  and  the  cares  that  accompany  thirst. 

No  one  talks  after  wine  about  "battles"  or  "famine"; 

But,  if  you  examine, 
The  praises  of  love  and  good  living  are  rife. 

Though  once  the  Centaurs,  'mid  potations  too  ample. 

Left  a  tragic  example 
Of  a  banquet  dishonoured  by  bloodshed  and  strife, 

Far  removed  be  such  doings  from  us !  Let  the  Thracians, 

Amid  their  libations. 
Confound  all  the  limits  of  right  and  of  wrong ; 


Invocations  to  Bacchus  1 13 

I  never  will  join  in  their  orgies  unholy — 

1  never  will  sully 
The  rites  that  to  ivy-crowned  Bacchus  belong. 

Let  Cybele  silence  her  priesthood,  and  calm  her 

Brass  cymbals  and  clamor; 
Away  with  such  outbursts,  uproarious  and  vain ! 

Displays  often  followed  by  insolence  mulish. 

And  confidence  foolish. 
To  be  seen  through  and  through,  like  this  glass  that  I 

drain. 

Ode  I,  18     Mahoney 


'*  Siccis  omnia  nam  dura  deus  proposuit.  *' 
The  gods  make  everything  hard  for  those  who  do  not  drink. 


TO  HIS  COMPANIONS-THE  CAROUSAL 

Horace  proposes  to  his  friends  a  banquet  without  quarrels ; 
and  he  intersperses  the  function  with  what  we  now  call 
"chaff".  Nothing  can  surpass  the  goodnature  and  dramatic 
ease  of  this  Ode.  Field's  translation  has  some  of  the  spirit, 
but  is  far  away  from  the  original.  The  last  line  is  altogether 
his  own. 

In  maudlin  spite  let  Thracians  fight 

Above  their  bowls  of  liquor ; 
But  such  as  we,  when  on  a  spree. 

Should  never  brawl  and  bicker ! 

These  angry  words  and  clashing  swords 
Are  quite  de  trop,  I'm  thinking ; 


I 


114        Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Brace  up,  my  boys,  and  hush  your  noise, 
And  drown  your  wrath  in  drinking. 

Aha,  *tis  fine, — this  mellow  wine 

With  which  our  host  would  dope  us ! 

Now  let  us  hear  what  pretty  dear 
Entangles  him  of  Opus. 

I  see  you  blush,      nay,  comrades  hush! 

Come,  friend,  though  they  despise  you. 
Tell  me  the  name  of  that  fair  dame, — 

Perchance  1  may  advise  you. 

O  wretched  youth !  and  is  it  truth 

You  love  that  fickle  lady  ? 
I,  doting  dunce,  courted  her  once ; 

Since  when,  she's  reckoned  shady ! 

Ode  /,  27    E.  Field 


DE  VERE'S  VERSION  OF  THE  SAME  ODE 

What!  like  a  boisterous  Thracian  throng 
Fight  o'er  the  bowl  whose  ruby  flush 

Was  meant  for  laughter,  love,  and  song! 
Cease  your  mad  strife.     Ye  bring  a  blush 

To  Liber's  brow.     Mirth,  wit,  and  wine, 

And  those  encircling  lights  that  shine 

Upon  our  revels,  ill  accord 

With  Parthian  spear  or  Median  sword. 

My  comrades,  hush  those  cries  profane. 

And  press  the  festal  couch  again. 


Invocations  to  Bacchus  115 

Slave,  fill  a  goblet  to  the  brink 
With  strong  Falernian.      Ere  1  drink 

Tell  me,  Megilla's  brother,  say 
What  loving  eyes  have  sped  the  dart 
That  pierced,  but  piercing  blessed,  thy  heart? 

Thou  wilt  not  >  Then  1  fling  away 
The  cup  unquaffed.  Stay,  on  thy  face 
No  tint  of  conscious  shame  1  trace : 

Whisper  it,  youth!      Ha!  wretched  boy. 
Deserving  of  a  worthier  joy 
What  power  divine,  what  wizard  art. 
From  bonds  so  vile  could  loose  thy  heart  ? 
Now  the  winged  courser  that  of  yore 
The  monster-slaying  hero  bore 
Could  snatch  thee  from  this  guilt,  this  shame, 
Charybdis'  cruel  arms,  Chimaera's  poison  flame. 

Ode  I,  27     DeVere 


TO  TELEPHUS     A  DRINKING  SONG 

Horace  urges  Telephus  to  give  up  for  once  his  dry  genea- 
logical and  historical  studies,  and  join  in  a  banquet  in  honor  of 
Murena, — not  forgetting  the  ladies ! 

The  kind  who  fell  as  patriots  fall. 
Brave  Codrus'  lineage  you  trace 
From  Inachus,  and  count  the  race 
Of  Aeacus 
And  hymn  to  us 
The  wars  long  waged  by  Ilium's  holy  wall. 


116        Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

But  what  the  price  of  Chian  is, 

And  who  will  heat  the  bath  aright, 
And  who  will  bid  us  home  to-night, 
And  fix  an  hour 
To  overpower 
These  frosts  Pelignian,  not  a  word  of  this. 

To  crescent  Dian,  boy,  fill  up ! 

Fill  this  to  Midnight !     This  to  thee. 
Augur  Murena !     Nine  to  three, 
Or  three  to  nine 
Of  sparkling  wine 
Be  fitly  measured  in  the  brimming  cup. 

The  rapt  bard  calls  for  what  will  mate 
The  number  of  the  tuneful  Nine ; 
To  quaff  the  undiluted  wine, 
It  were  to  flaw 
The  Graces*  law. 
Riot  and  strife  the  robeless  sisters  hate. 

O  rapture !     O  delirium  ! 

Why  is  the  breathing  music  still 
The  Berecynthian  reed  should  fill? 
Or  wherefore  mute 
The  liquid  flute, 
There  by  the  silent  cithern  hanging  dumb? 

No  niggard  bounty!     Fill  the  air 

With  roses !     Let  our  maddening  cheer 


Invocations  to  Bacchus  117 

Ring  loud  on  envious  Lycus'  ear. 
And  gaily  greet 
Our  neighbor  sweet; 
Dotard !  he  merits  ill  a  wife  so  fair ! 

Sweet  youth,  pure  Hesper's  parallel. 

Crowned  with  bright  clustering  curis,  see !  see ! 
She  comes,  as  young  and  fair  as  thee. 
Thy  Rhode; — ah! 
For  Glycera 
I  waste  away  on  fires  unquenchable. 

Ode  III.  1 9     Clark 


TO   BACCHUS 

Lonsdale  and  Lee  say  that  this  is  the  only  one  of  Horace's 
Odes  which  may  be  said  to  be  written  in  the  dithyrambic 
manner.  In  it  Horace,  as  one  possessed  with  the  frantic 
inspiration  of  the  god,  foretells  that  he  will  sing  in  glorious  verse 
the  praises  of  Augustus. 

Whither  through  wastes  unscanned  by  mortal  eye 
Bear'st  thou  me,  Bacchus;  through  what  paths  untrod  ? 

Evoe !  spare  me  !  spare  thy  votary 

Filled  with  the  fierce,  swift,  spirit  of  the  God. 

From  what  deep  cavern  to  the  listening  pines 
Great  Caesar's  anthemed  triumph  must  I  fling. 

And  point  his  star  amid  celestial  signs? — 
A  portent  strange,  a  mystery,  I  sing ! 

I  wandered  lost :  a  vision  on  me  fell : 

A  glory  bursting  from  the  broad-rimmed  sun 


■ 

' 

1 

1 

118        Horace :  Quinius  Horatius  Flaccus 

Smote  with  strong  light  the  phantom-haunted  dell : 
Then  thro*  the  reddening  fir-stems  distant  shone 

Green  fields,  and  sparkling  banks,  and  rivers  deep. 

Mine  eyes  were  opened !  motionless  I  gazed ;    / 
As  some  Bacchante  starting  from  her  sleep 

On  thunder-riven  mountain  stares  amazed 

At  snow-clad  plains  of  Thrace  beneath  her  spread. 
And  Rhodope  with  all  its  barbarous  horde, 

And  Hebrus  foaming  o'er  his  rocky  bed. 
Hear  me,  Lenaean  Bacchus !  hear  me,  lord 

Of  Maenads,  and  the  Naiad  race  whose  floods 
With  mighty  arms  down  rugged  gorges  bear 

Uprooted  oaks,  the  monarchs  of  the  woods : 
Lead  on,  resistless  God !   I  know  not  fear : 

Peril  is  sweet  near  thee,  when  o*er  thy  brow 
The  bleeding  grape  and  glistening  ivy  twine. 

Soft  notes,  and  dulcet  lays  beseem  not  now ; 
1  chant  immortal  Paeans,  hymns  divine. 

Ode  III,  25     De  Vere 


TO  TORQUATUS 

The  snow,  dissolved,  no  more  is  seen ; 
The  fields  and  woods,  behold,  are  green; 
The  changing  year  renews  the  plain; 
The  rivers  know  their  banks  again; 
The  sprightly  Nymph  and  naked  Grace 
The  mazy  dance  together  trace; 


"Immortalia   ne   speres,    monel   annus   cl   almum 
Quae  rapil  hora  diem." 

Ode  IV,  7. 

The  circling  Hour  thai  swiftly  wings  its  Way 
And  in  its  flight  consumes  the  smiling  Day, 
The  Hour  and  Day  and  all  the  Various  Year 
Convince  us  nothing  is  Immortal  here. 


118        Horace :  Quinius  Horatius  Flaccus 

Smote  with  strong  light  the  phantom-haunted  dell : 
Then  thro'  the  reddening  fir-stems  distant  shone 

Green  fields,  and  sparkling  banks,  and  rivers  deep. 

Mine  eyes  were  opened !  motionless  1  gazed ; 
As  some  Bacchante  starting  from  her  sleep 

On  thunder-riven  mountain  stares  amazed 

At  snow-clad  plains  of  Thrace  beneath  her  spread. 
And  Rhodope  with  all  its  barbarous  horde, 

And  Hebrus  foaming  o*er  his  rocky  bed. 
Hear  me,  Lenaean  Bacchus !  hear  me,  lord 

Of  Maenads,  and  the  Naiad  race  whose  floods 
With  mighty  arms  down  rugged  gorges  bear 

Uprooted  oaks,  the  monarchs  of  the  woods : 
Lead  on,  resistless  God !   1  know  not  fear : 

Peril  is  sweet  near  thee,  when  o'er  thy  brow 
The  bleeding  grape  and  glistening  ivy  twine. 

Soft  notes,  and  dulcet  lays  beseem  not  now ; 
i  chant  immortal  Paeans,  hymns  divine. 

Ode  III,  25     De  Vere 


TO  TORQUATUS 

The  snow,  dissolved,  no  more  is  seen ; 
The  fields  and  woods,  behold,  are  green ; 
The  changing  year  renews  the  plain; 
The  rivers  know  their  banks  again; 
The  sprightly  Nymph  and  naked  Grace 
The  mazy  dance  together  trace; 


"Immorlalia  ne   speres,   monel   annus   el   almum 
Ouae  rapit  hora  diem. 

Ode  IV,  7. 

The  circling  Hour  that  swiftly  wings  its  Way 
And  in  its  flight  consumes  the  smiUng  Day, 
The  Hour  and  Day  and  all  the  Various  Year 
Convince  us  nothing  is  Immortal  here. 


I  I 


Invocations  to  Bacchus  119 

The  changing  year's  successive  plan 
Proclaims  mortality  to  man. 
Rough  Winter's  blasts  to  Spring  give  way ; 
Spring  yields  to  Summer's  sovereign  ray ; 
Then  Summer  sinks  in  Autumn's  reign ; 
And  Winter  chills  the  world  again. 
Her  losses  soon  the  moon  supplies, 
But  wretched  man,  when  once  he  lies 
Where  Priam  and  his  sons  are  laid, 
Is  nought  but  ashes,  and  a  shade. 

Who  knows  if  Jove,  who  counts  our  score, 
Will  rouse  us  in  a  morning  more? 
What  with  your  friend  you  nobly  share, 
At  least  you  rescue  from  your  heir. 

Not  you,  Torquatus,  boast  of  Rome, 
When  Minos  once  has  fix'd  your  doom. 
Or  eloquence,  or  splendid  birth. 
Or  virtue,  shall  restore  to  earth, 
Hippolytus,  unjustly  slain, 
Diana  calls  to  life  in  vain ; 
Nor  can  the  might  of  Theseus  rend 
The  chains  of  Hell  that  hold  his  friend. 

Ode  IV,  7     S.  Johnson 


"  Nos,  ubi  decidimus. 
Quo  pater  Aeneas,  quo  dives  Tullus  et  Ancus, 
Pulvis  et  umbra  sumus. " 
When  we  descend  where  father  Aeneas  and  rich  Tullus  and 
Ancus  are,  we  are  but  dust  and  a  shadow. 


1 20        Horace :  Quintus  H or  alius  Flaccus 


ALPHIUS.    A   CITY    BROKER,    PRAISES    A 

COUNTRY   LIFE. 

This  Ode  is  called  a  Master- Piece  by  the  sympathetic 
Davidson,  and  even  less  kindly  critics  have  spoken  of  it  as 
"without  equal  in  the  whole  range  of  literature".  DeVere 
praises  it  as  a  valuable  picture  of  Roman  life  in  the  country 
two  thousand  years  ago.  The  writer  of  these  praises  is  sup- 
posed to  be  a  city  business  man,  who  after  portraying  the  joys 
of  rural  life  suddenly  changes  his  mind  and  goes  back  to 
town. 

The  poem  has  been  translated  by  Dryden ;  but  we  prefer 
and  print  here  the  old-fashioned  work  of  Hawkins  written 
some  two  hundred  and  seventy  years  ago.  We  add  a  clever 
paraphrase  by  Arthur  S.  Way.  It  is  indeed  closer  to  the 
original  than  a  paraphrase ;  it  is  almost  a  real  translation.  We 
trust  Mr.  Way  will  pardon  this  liberty.  We  have  been  unable 
to  find  his  address. 

He  happy  is,  who  far  from  busie  toyle 

(As  elder  Ages)  tills  the  soyle 
His  father  left,  with  his  owne  Cattell,  free 

From  heart-enthralling  usury. 
He  is  not  mov*d,  when  warlik  drums  doe  beat, 

Nor  feares  the  angry  Ocean's  threat. 
He  pleas,  and  suits  abhorrs,  and  doth  refuse 

The  grace  of  mighty  men  to  use. 
But  either  doth  to  tallest  Poplar  twine 

The  tender  off-springs  of  the  vine : 
And  lopping  Branches  off,  which  uselesse  were, 

Graft  those  which  better  fruit  may  beare : 
Or  viewth  in  some  winding  valley's  maze. 

His  wandring  beards  of  Cattell  graze.  -!^ 


I  i 


Invocations  to  Bacchus  121 

Or,  doth  press'd  honey  in  pure  vessels  keepe, 

Or  sheare  his  wooll-o're-burdned  sheepe. 
But  when  with  mellow  fruit  ripe  Autumne  crown'd, 

His  head  upreareth  from  the  ground; 
How  he  to  taste  the  grafted  Peare  delights. 

And  Grape,  that  with  the  purple  fights. 
Which  to  Priapus  as  a  gift  redounds. 

Or  old  Sylvanus,  God  of  Bounds. 
Now  under  aged  Okes  he  houres  doth  passe. 

And  now  reposeth  on  the  grasse. 
While  from  high  bankes  swift  trembHng  waters  glide. 

And  Birds  their  warbHng  notes  divide, 
Small  streames  on  purling  pibbles  murmur  keep, 

To  summon  soft  and  gentle  sleep. 
But  when  lowd  Jove  doth  winter's  season  send. 

And  makes  sharpe  showers,  and  snowes  descend. 
He,  or  the  hardy  Bore  from  place  to  place 

With  fleet  hounds  into  Toyles  doth  chace, 
Or,  with  light  sticks  doth  slender  nets  display, 

Devouring  Thrushes  to  bettay: 
Or  els  the  fearfull  Hare,  and  forraigne  Crane, 

(His  sports  glad  spoyles)  in  grins  are  ta'ne. 
Ah !  who  in  thought,  'mongst  such  delights  retaines 

Least  sense,  of  lov'es  perplexing  paines  ? 
But  if  (in  part)  a  modest  wife  direct 

The  house,  and  children  deare  affect, 
As  Sabine  earst,  or  swift  Apulian's  dame 

Scorch'd  with  the  rayes  of  Phoebus  flame. 
Makes  sacred  fires  with  old  dry  wood  to  burne, 

'Gainst  weary  husband's  wish'd  returne : 


122        Horace:  Quintus  H or  alius  Flaccus 

And  folding  gladsome  flocks  in  woven  grates, 

Dryes  up  their  dugs,  which  milke  dilates ; 
Then  broaching  new  wines  kept  in  vessels  faire, 

An  (unbought)  Supper  doth  prepare : 
The  Lucrine  Oyster  nor  the  Guilt-head  bright, 

Nor  Turbot  more  my  tast  delight. 
If  winter,  when  lowd  Eastern  tempests  rore, 

Drive  such  upon  our  Tirrhene  shore: 
Th'  Ionian  Partrich,  nor  the  Affrick  bird, 

Such  palate-pleasing  taste  affoord, 
As  when  I  am  with  th'  unctuous  Olive  fed. 

From  fruitfuU  branches  gathered, 
Or  when  I  meadow-loving  sorrell  get. 

And  the  health-giving  mallow  eat : 
A  lambe  on  Terminus  his  feast  that  dies, 

Or  Kid  redeemed,  from  wolfe*s  surprize. 
Among  these  dainties  what  content  it  yeelds, 

To  see  the  fed- flocks  leave  the  fields : 
To  see  the  weary  Ox  with  neck  worne  bare, 

Dragging  the  turned  plough,  and  share : 
And  toiling  hinds  (the  plenteous  household  swarme) 

'Bout  shining  Lars  to  fit,  and  warme. 
This  said,  rich  Alphius  who  money  lends, 

To  lead  a  Countrey  life  intends ; 
And  in  the  Ides  his  debts  calFd  in  amaine, 

But  in  the  Calends  lent  againe. 

Epode  II,     Hawkins 

WAY'S  VERSION  OF  THE  SAME  EPODE 

"  A  meditation  on  the  pleasures  of  a  country  life,  put  into  the 
mouth  of  a  city  man,  who  soon  thinks  better  of  it." 


Invocations  to  Bacchus 


123 


Oh,  happy  is  he  who,  from  business  free — 
As  they  lived  when  the  world  began — 

With  his  team  may  toil  on  the  old  farm-soil. 
And  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Nor  is  roused  from  his  bed  by  the  war-horn  dread. 

Nor  shudders  at  raging  waves; 
But  he  shuns  the  crowd,  and  the  thresholds  proud 

Where  lords  look  scorn  on  slaves. 

So  the  poplar's  pride  he  weds  to  its  bride. 

The  blushing-clustered  vine ; 
And  his  glad  heart  swells,  as  in  nestling  dells 

He  watches  the  roving  kine : 

Or  he  prunes  away  the  barren  spray. 

And  he  grafts  the  fruitful  there; 
Or  his  brown  jars  foam  with  the  gold  from  the  comb, 

Or  the  shorn  lambs  know  his  care. 

Or  when,  apple-crowned,  smiles  Autumn  round 

On  field  and  flame-touched  wood, 
Choice  pears  from  the  tree  he  gathers  with  glee. 

And  the  clusters  purple-hued  — 

Fair  gifts  to  bring  to  the  Garden -king. 

Or  thee,  O  Landmark-lord ! 
Lo,  now  lies  he  'neath  the  old  oak-tree. 

And  anon  on  the  velvet  sward. 

While  the  streamlet's  flow  aye  murmurs  low. 
And  the  culvers  softly  coo, 


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1 24        Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

And  a  fountain's  spray,  heard  far  away, 
Drifts  down  in  slumber-dew. 

The  Thunder-king  to  the  year  may  bring 

Drear  gifts  of  snow  and  rain : 
But  the  forest  resounds  with  the  bay  of  his  hounds, 

And  the  shout  when  the  boar  is  slain. 

Or  he  cunningly  sets  the  filmy  nets 

The  thievish  thrush  to  snare; 
And  the  outland  crane  in  the  springe  is  ta'en — 

Rich  prize! — or  the  trembling  hare. 

No  torturing  fire  of  unhallowed  desire 

Mid  these  sweet  scenes  may  come. 
Let  a  dear  chaste  wife  but  crown  my  life, 

With  babes,  in  the  happy  home, — 

A  rustic  Grace,  with  a  sunburnt  face. 

Like  the  bride  of  a  mountaineer, — 
To  pile  up  high  the  faggots  dry 

When  my  weary  feet  draw  near, 

And  to  fill  white-foaming  pails  in  the  gloaming. 
And  to  fold  the  sheep  and  the  kine. 

And  my  board  to  spread  with  the  unbought  bread 
And  the  sweet  new  country  wine. 

No  turbot  for  me,  nor  the  spoil  of  the  sea 

That  swells  the  fisherman's  store 
When  the  wild  wind  raves  o'er  the  Eastern  waves, 

And  sweeps  the  shoals  to  shore ! 


"Beatus  illc,  qui  procul  negoliis, 

Ut  prisca  gens  mortalium, 
.  Paterna  rura  bobus  excercel  suis, 

Solutus  omni  fenore." 

Epode  2. 

Happy  the  man  inured  to  toil 

Whose  oxen  plough  the  ancestral  soil, 
Frugal  like  men  of  old  and  free 

From  sordid  cares  and  usury. 


1 24        Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

And  a  fountain's  spray,  heard  far  away, 
Drifts  down  in  slumber-dew. 

The  Thunder-king  to  the  year  may  bring 

Drear  gifts  of  snow  and  rain : 
But  the  forest  resounds  with  the  bay  of  his  hounds, 

And  the  shout  when  the  boar  is  slain. 


Or  he  cunningly  sets  the  filmy  nets 

The  thievish  thrush  to  snare; 
And  the  outland  crane  in  the  springe  is  ta'en 

Rich  prize! — or  the  trembling  hare. 


No  torturing  fire  of  unhallowed  desire 

Mid  these  sweet  scenes  may  come. 
Let  a  dear  chaste  wife  but  crown  my  life, 

With  babes,  in  the  happy  home, — 

A  rustic  Grace,  with  a  sunburnt  face. 

Like  the  bride  of  a  mountaineer,  — 
To  pile  up  high  the  faggots  dry 

When  my  weary  feet  draw  near. 

And  to  fill  white-foaming  pails  in  the  gloaming. 
And  to  fold  the  sheep  and  the  kine. 

And  my  board  to  spread  with  the  unbought  bread 
And  the  sweet  new  country  wine. 

No  turbot  for  me,  nor  the  spoil  of  the  sea 

That  swells  the  fisherman's  store 
When  the  wild  wind  raves  o'er  the  Eastern  waves. 

And  sweeps  the  shoals  to  shore ! 


'Bealus  ille,  qui  procul   negotiis, 

Ut  prisca  gens  mortalium, 
Paterna  rura  bobus  excercet  suis, 

Solutus  omni  fenore." 

Epode   2. 

Happy  the  man  inured  to  toil 

Whose  oxen  plough  the  ancestral  soil. 
Frugal  Hke  men  of  old  and  free 

From  sordid  cares  and  usury. 


Invocations  to  Bacchus  125 

Not  Afric's  pheasant  hath  flavour  pleasant 

For  me,  nor  Asia's  grouse. 
Ah,  give  me  rather  than  the  olives  I  gather 

From  the  trees  around  my  house, 

And  the  sorrel  that's  found  in  the  green  meads  round, 
And  the  wholesome  pottage  of  mallows, 

Or  the  kid  that  1  saved  when  the  wolf  I  braved, 
Or  the  lamb  that  the  feast-day  hallows. 

So  in  peaceful  bliss  o'er  fare  like  this 

I  watch  the  sheep  stray  home. 
Or,  trailing  the  plough  that's  idle  now, 

The  weary  oxen  come. 

And  the  maids  and  the  men  to  their  supper  then 

Pass  in  with  cheerful  face; 
And  in  they  troop,  till  a  goodly  group 

Is  round  the  faggots'  blaze. 

So  to  settle  down,  far,  far  from  the  town. 

He  gathered  his  debts  together. 
On  the  wing  to  fly.     A  week  passed  by: 

He  was  stock-jobbing  harder  than  ever! 

Epode  11.      Way 


TO  HIS  FRIENDS:  A  DRINKING  SONG 

With  storm  and  wrack  the  sky  is  black,  and  sleet  and 

dashing  rain 
With  all  the  gathered  streams  of  heaven  are  deluging 

the  plain; 


II 


ifml 

m 


126        Horace :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Now  roars  the  sea,  the  forests  roar  with  the  shrill  north 

wind  of  Thrace, 
Then  let  us  snatch  the  hour,  my  friends,  the  hour  that 

flies  apace, 

Whilst  yet  the  bloom  is  on  our  cheeks,  and  rightfully 
we  may 

With  song  and  jest  and  jollity  keep  wrinkled  age  at 
bay! 

Bring  forth  a  jar  of  lordly  wine,  whose  years  my  own 
can  mate. 

Its  ruby  juices  stained  the  vats  in   Torquatus'  consul- 
ate! 

No  word   of  anything   that's  sad;  whateer    may  be 
amiss 

The  Gods  belike  will  change  to  some  vicissitude  of 
bliss ! 

With  Achaemenian  nard  bedew  our  locks,  and  troubles 

dire 
Subdue  to  rest  in  every  breast  with  the  Cyllenian  lyre! 
So  to  his  peerless  pupil  once  the  noble  Centaur  sang ; 
"Invincible,  yet   mortal,    who    from    goddess    Thetis 

sprang. 

Thee  waits  Assaracus's  realm,  where  arrowy  Simois 
glides. 

That  realm  which  chill  Scamander's  rill  with  scanty 
stream  divides. 

Whence  never  more  shalt  thou  return, — the  Parcae  so 
,    decree. 

Nor  shall  thy  blue-eyed  mother  home  again  e'er  carry 
thee. 


Invocations  to  Bacchus  127 

Then  chase  with  wine  and  song  divine  each  grief  and 

trouble  there, 
The    sweetest,    surest     antidotes    of    beauty-marring 

care ! " 

Epode  XIII,     Martin 


■ilBIJW^JWiyminni.iJi.mMi  iJmi»[U^MgiiMfii,ji!."i  ■ 


HORACE'S  STORIES 


Horace  loved  to  illustrate  his  arguments  and  his  philosophy 
with  stories.  These  are  usually  short  and  often  taken  from  older 
sources.  His  story  of  Opimius  the  miser,  and  that  of  the  lawyer 
and  auctioneer  are  agreeable  and  moral  tales.  One  of  his 
Satires,  the  Bore,  relates  a  personal  incident,  and  is  the  most 
modern  and  amusing  of  all  his  writings.  Horace  is  not  averse 
to  making  fun  of  the  ancient  heroes.  He  uses,  for  example, 
the  incident  of  Ulysses  and  the  Theban  prophet  Tiresias  whom 
the  former  met  in  his  decent  to  Hades.  Sat.  II,  5.  The 
prophet  tells  Ulysses  how  "to  get  rich  quick"  when  he  returns 
home.  Horace  here  furnishes  good  material  for  the  libretto  of 
a  modern  comic  opera. 

His  stories  are  short  and  well  told,  but  rather  monotonous  in 
moral. 


I 


"-\ 


THE  PARANOIAC  WHO  DID  NOT  WISH  TO  BE 

CURED 

There  lived  at  Argos  a  man  of  no  mean  Rank,  who 
imagined  he  was  hearing  some  rare  Tragedians,  to 
whom  he  sat  listening  with  rapturous  applauses  in  the 
empty  Theatre;  who,  however,  could  discharge  the 
other  Duties  of  Life  with  just  enough  Decorum;  a 
truly  honest  Neighbour;  a  Man  of  amiable  Hospi- 
tality, kind  to  his  Wife,  capable  of  forgiving  his  Slaves, 
and,   tho'  a  Bottle  was  unseaFd,  would    not  always 


i 


132         Horace:   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

rave :  No  such  Fool  but  that  he  could  shun  a  Precipice, 
or  an  open  Well :  This  Man,  whose  Cure  was  effected 
at  the  Expence  and  Care  of  his  Relations,  so,  soon  as 
he  expelled  the  Disease  by  unmix'd  Hellebore,  and 
returned  to  himself :  "  Ah  me !  my  Friend, "  says  he, 
"you  have  undone,  not  cured  me,  to  rob  me  thus  of 
Pleasure,  and  by  Force  bereave  me  of  a  most  sweet 
Del 


usion. 


n 


Epist.  II,  2     Davidson 


THE  SOLDIER  WHO  WAS  BRAVE  ONLY  WHEN 

HE  WAS  POOR 

A  Soldier  of  Lucullus's  Army,  having  run  through 
a  great  many  Hardships  to  get  a  little  Money  together, 
happened  to  be  robbed  of  it  to  a  Penny,  as  he  lay  fast 
asleep  in  the  Night,  quite  fatigued ;  whereupon,  like  a 
ravening  Wolf,  fierce  with  Famine,  and  enraged  both 
against  himself  and  the  Enemy,  he  drove  one  of  the 
King's  Garrison's  from  a  Post  which,  as  they  say,  was 
exceedingly  fortified,  and  richly  stored  with  Booty. 
Having  signalized  himself  by  this  Action,  he  is  crown'd 
with  Rewards  of  Honour,  and  receives  twenty  thousand 
Sesterces  besides.  It  happened  about  this  Time,  that 
his  General,  having  a  mind  to  batter  down  some  Fort 
or  other,  began  to  address  the  same  Soldier,  in  Terms 
that  might  have  inspired  even  a  Coward  with  Courage : 
"  Go, "  said  he,  "  my  Champion,  where  your  Valour 
calls  you;  go  in  a  happy  Hour,  to  reap  the  ample 
Recompence  of  Merit.     Why  do  you  demur  ?  "     To 


"Agedum,   sume   hoc   ptisanarium   orizae." 
"Quanti  emtae?"    "Parvo."    "Quanti  ergo?"    "Ochissibus."    "Eheu! 
Quid  refert,  morbo  an   furtis,  pereamve  rapinis?" 

Sat.  II,  3. 

"Take  this  Elixir,  come,  'twill  do  you  good.** 
"First  tell  me  what  it  costs."     "The  price  is  small." 
"How  much,  I  ask?"     "One  shilling,  that  is  all." 
**A  shilling!     *S  death,  if  ruin  must  ensue 
What  matter  if  by  death,  disease,  or  you?" 


132         Horace:   Quintus  Horalius  Flaccus 

rave :  No  such  Fool  but  that  he  could  shun  a  Precipice, 
or  an  open  Well :  This  Man,  whose  Cure  was  effected 
at  the  Expence  and  Care  of  his  Relations,  so,  soon  as 
he  expelled  the  Disease  by  unmix  d  Hellebore,  and 
returned  to  himself:  "Ah  me!  my  Friend,"  says  he, 
"you  have  undone,  not  cured  me,  to  rob  me  thus  of 
Pleasure,  and  by  Force  bereave  me  of  a  most  sweet 

Delusion." 

Epist.  II,  2     Davidson 


THE  SOLDIER  WHO  WAS  BRAVE  ONLY  WHEN 

HE  WAS  POOR 

A  Soldier  of  Lucullus's  Army,  having  run  through 
a  great  many  Hardships  to  get  a  little  Money  together, 
happened  to  be  robbed  of  it  to  a  Penny,  as  he  lay  fast 
asleep  in  the  Night,  quite  fatigu  d ;  whereupon,  hke  a 
ravening  Wolf,  fierce  with  Famine,  and  enraged  both 
against  himself  and  the  Enemy,  he  drove  one  of  the 
King  s  Garrison  s  from  a  Post  which,  as  they  say,  was 
exceedingly    fortified,  and    richly  stored    with    Booty. 
Having  signalized  himself  by  this  Action,  he  is  crown'd 
with  Rewards  of  Honour,  and  receives  twenty  thousand 
Sesterces  besides.      It  happened  about  this  Time,  that 
his  General,  having  a  mind  to  batter  down  some  Fort 
or  other,  began  to  address  the  same  Soldier,  in  Terms 
that  might  have  inspired  even  a  Coward  with  Courage : 
"  Go, "  said  he,  "  my  Champion,  where  your  Valour 
calls  you;  go  in  a  happy  Hour,  to    reap   the    ample 
Recompence  of  Merit.     Why  do  you  demur?"     To 


"Agedum,    sume    hoc    ptisanarium    orizae. 
"Quanti  emlae?"    "Parvo."    "Quanti  ergo?"    "Octussibus."    "Eheu! 
Quid  referl,  morbo  an   furlis,  pereamve  rapinis?" 

Sat.  II,  3. 

"Take  this  Elixir,  come,  'twill  do  you  good." 
"First  tell  me  what  it  costs."     "The  price  is  small." 
"How  much,  I  ask?"     "One  shilling,  that  is  all." 
"A  shilling!      'S  death,  if  ruin  must  ensue 
What  matter  if  by  death,  disease,  or  you?" 


Horace's  Stories  133 

which  he  made  this  arch  tho*  blunt  Reply :  "  Let 
him  go,  good  General,  let  him  go  on  the  Attack  you 
design,  who  has  lost  his  Purse." 

Epist.  II,  2     Davidson 


THE  SICK  MISER  AND  THE  FAITHFUL  PHYSI- 

CIAN 

Horace  in  one  of  his  Satires  dwells  upon  the  follies  of  men, 
and  particularly  upon  avarice  and  covetousness.  He  would 
give  to  the  avaricious  the  largest  dose  of  Hellebore,  which  was 
the  drug  in  his  time  esteemed  a  specific  for  insanity.  "Danda 
est  hellebori  multo  pars  maxima  avaris." 

He  tells,  to  illustrate  his  sermon,  the  following : 

Opimius,  poor  amid  his  hoarded  coin, 

Who  quaff*d  on  common  days  the  lees  of  wine, 

And  thought  it  much  on  festivals  to  share 

Poor  Veian  wine  in  cheap  Campanian  ware. 

So  deep  a  lethargy  once  chanced  to  seize 

That  his  glad  heirs  assaiFd  the  chests  and  keys. 

The  doctor,  an  expert  and  skilful  man, 

To  rouse  his  patient  tried  the  following  plan: 

Large  bags  of  gold  were  emptied  on  the  floor, 

And  friends  employ*d  to  come  and  count  it  o'er. 

All  things  prepar'd,  he  raised  the  sick  man's  head, 

And  pointing  where  the  glittering  heaps  were  spread, 

"  Arise, "  he  cried ;    "  your  greedy  heirs  will  take 

All  your  effects,  unless  you  watch  and  wake. 

Look !  they  commence  their  plunder  even  now !  " 


Th 


en  wake  and  live. 


dli 


"But 


"What;  ere  I  die!" 

how?" 
"  Your  fainting  stomach  needs  some  strength'ning  food, 


In 

ill 


m 


i 


134        Horace :   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Take  this  elixir ;  come,  'twill  do  you  good. " 

"  First  tell  me  what  it  costs."      "  The  price  is  small." 

"  How  much,  I  ask?  "      "One  shilling;  that  is  all." 

"A  shilling!  'sdeath,  if  ruin  must  ensue, 

What  matter  if  by  theft,  disease,  or  you  ?  " 

Sat.  II  3     Creech 

THE  COUNTRY  MOUSE  AND  THE  CITY  MOUSE 

This  story  is  told  by  a  guest  at  one  of  Horace's  dinner 
parties. 

The  country  mouse  is  described  as  "asper,  et  attentus  quae- 
sitis,"  sharp  and  watchful  over  what  he  had  acquired ;  but. 
meeting  an  old  friend  he  "ut  tamen  arctum  solveret  hospitiis  ani- 
mum,"  nevertheless  opened  his  narrow  soul  to  hospitality. 

If  some  one  have  cried  up  to  us 

Arellius'  wealth,  forgetting  how 

Much  care  it  costs  him,  "  Look  you  now, 

Once  on  a  time,"  he  will  begin, 

"A  country  mouse  received  within 

His  rugged  cave  a  city  brother. 

As  one  old  comrade  would  another. 

'A  frugal  mouse  upon  the  whole. 
But  loved  his  friend,  and  had  a  soul, ' 
And  could  be  free  and  open-handed. 
When  hospitality  demanded. 
In  brief,  he  did  not  spare  his  hoard 
Of  corn  and  pease,  long  coyly  stored ; 
Raisins  he  brought,  and  scraps,  to  boot. 
Half-gnawed,  of  bacon,  which  he  put 
With  his  own  mouth  before  his  guest, 
In  hopes,  by  offering  his  best 


Horace* s  Stories 

In  such  variety,  he  might 

Persuade  him  to  an  appetite. 

But  still  the  cit,  with  languid  eye. 

Just  picked  a  bit,  then  put  it  by; 

Which  with  dismay  the  rustic  saw. 

As,  stretched  upon  some  stubbly  straw. 

He  munched  at  bran  and  common  grits, 

Not  venturing  on  the  dainty  bits. 

At  length  the  town  mouse;    "What,"  says  he, 

"  My  good  friend,  can  the  pleasure  be, 

Of  grubbing  here,  on  the  backbone 

Of  a  great  crag  with  trees  o'ergrown  ? 

Who*d  not  to  these  wild  woods  prefer 

The  city,  with  its  crowds  and  stir  ? 

Then  come  with  me  to  town ;  you'll  ne'er 

Regret  the  hour  that  took  you  there. 

All  earthly  things  draw  mortal  breath; 

Nor  great  nor  little  can  from  death 

Escape,  and  therefore,  friend,  be  gay, 

Enjoy  life's  good  things  while  you  may, 

Remembering  how  brief  the  space 

Allowed  to  you  in  any  case." 

His  words  strike  home ;  and,  light  of  heart. 
Behold  him  with  our  rustic  start. 
Timing  their  journey,  so  they  might 
Reach  town  beneath  the  cloud  of  night, 
Which  was  at  its  high  noon,  when  they 
To  a  rich  mansion  found  their  way. 
Where  shining  ivory  couches  vied 
With  coverlets  in  purple  dyed, 


135 


:>l 


1 


136        Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

And  where  in  baskets  were  amassed 

The  wrecks  of  a  superb  repast, 

Which  some  few  hours  before  had  closed. 

There,  having  first  his  friend  disposed 

Upon  a  purple  tissue,  straight 

The  city  mouse  begins  to  wait 

With  scraps  upon  his  country  brother, 

Each  scrap  more  dainty  than  another. 

And  all  a  servant's  duty  proffers, 

First  tasting  everything  he  offers. 

The  guest,  reclining  there  in  state, 
Rejoices  in  his  altered  fate, 
O'er  each  fresh  tidbit  smacks  his  lips. 
And  breaks  into  the  merriest  quips, 
When  suddenly  a  banging  door 
Shakes  host  and  guest  into  the  floor. 
From  room  to  room  they  rush  aghast. 
And  almost  drop  down  dead  at  last, 
When  loud  through  all  the  house  resounds 
The  deep  bay  of  Molossian  hounds. 

"  Ho ! "   cries  the  country  mouse,  "  this  kind 
Of  life  is  not  for  me,  1  find. 
Give  me  my  woods  and  cavern !     There 
At  least  I'm  safe !     And  though  both  spare 
And  poor  my  food  may  be,  rebel 
I  never  will ;   so,  fare  ye  well !  " 


"HauJ  mihi  vita  Est  opus  hac.** 
No  city  life  for  me. 

SaL  //.  6     Martin 


Horace* s  Stories 


137 


PHILIP  THE  RICH   LAWYER  AND  VULTEIUS 
THE  POOR  AUCTIONEER 

Philip,  the  famous  counsel,  on  a  day — 
A  burly  man  and  wilful  in  his  way — 
From  court  returning,  somewhere  about  two, 
And  grumbling,  for  his  years  were  far  from  few. 
That  the  Carinae  were  so  distant,  though 
But  from  the  Forum  half  a  mile  or  so. 
Descried  a  fellow  in  a  barber's  booth, 
All  by  himself,  his  chin  fresh  shaved  and  smooth. 
Trimming  his  nails,  and  with  the  easy  air 
Of  one  uncumbered  by  a  wish  or  care. 
"  Demetrius!  " — 'twas  his  page,  a  boy  of  tact. 
In  comprehension  swift,  and  swift  in  act, — 
"  Go,  ascertain  his  rank,  name,  fortune ;  track 
His  father,  patron ! "      In  a  trice  he's  back. 
"  An  auction-crier,  Vulteius  Mena,  sir. 
Means  poor  enough,  no  spot  on  character. 
Good  or  to  work  or  idle,  get  or  spend, 
Has  his  own  house,  delights  to  see  a  friend. 
Fond  of  the  play,  and  sure,  when  work  is  done. 
Of  those  who  crowd  the  Campus  to  make  one." 
"  rd  like  to  hear  all  from  himself.     Away, 
Bid  him  come  dine  with  me — at  once— to-day !  " 

Mena  some  trick  in  the  request  divines. 
Turns  it  all  ways,  then  civilly  declines. 
"  What !    Says  me  nay  ?  "     "  'Tis  even  so,  sir.    Why  ? 
Can't  say.     Dislikes  you,  or,  more  likely,  shy. " 


i|i 


138        Horace  :  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

Next  morning  Philip  searches  Mena  out, 
And  finds  him  vending  to  a  rabble  rout 
Old  crazy  lumber,  frippery  of  the  worst, 
And  with  all  courtesy  salutes  him  first. 
Mena  pleads  occupation,  ties  of  trade. 
His  service  else  he  would  by  dawn  have  paid 
At  Philip  s  house, — was  grieved  to  think,  that  how 
He  should  have  failed  to  notice  him  till  now. 
"  On  one  condition  I  accept  your  plea. 
You  come  this  afternoon,  and  dine  with  me." 
"Yours  to  command."      "Be   there,  then,  sharp  at 

four! 
Now  go,  work  hard,  and  make  your  little  more !  " 

At  dinner  Mena  rattled  on,  expressed 
Whatever  came  uppermost,  then  home  to  rest. 
The  hook  was  baited  craftily,  and  when 
The  fish  came  nibbling  ever  and  again, 
At  morn  a  client,  and,  when  asked  to  dine, 
Not  now  at  all  in  humour  to  decline, 
Philip  himself  one  holiday  drove  him  down, 
To  see  his  villa  some  few  miles  from  town. 
Mena  keeps  praising  up,  the  whole  way  there, 
The  Sabine  country  and  the  Sabine  air ; 
So  Philip  sees  his  fish  is  fairly  caught. 
And  smiles  with  inward  triumph  at  the  thought. 

Resolved  at  any  price  to  have  his  whim, — 
For  that  is  best  of  all  repose  to  him, — 
Seven  hundred  pounds  he  gives  him  there  and  then, 
Proffers  on  easy  terms  as  much  again, 
And  so  persuades  him,  that,  with  tastes  like  his. 


Horace's  Stories  139 

He  ought  to  buy  a  farm ; — so  bought  it  is. 

Not  to  detain  you  longer  than  enough, 
The  dapper  cit  becomes  a  farmer  bluff, 
Talks  drains  and  subsoils,  ever  on  the  strain 
Grows  lean,  and  ages  with  the  lust  of  gain. 
But  when  his  sheep  are  stolen,  when  murrains  smite 
His  goats,  and  his  best  crops  are  killed  with  blight. 
When  at  the  plough  his  oxen  drop  down  dead. 
Stung  with  his  losses,  up  one  night  from  bed 
He  springs,  and  on  a  cart-horse  makes  his  way. 
All  wrath,  to  Philip's  house,  by  break  of  day. 

"  How's  this  ?  "  cries  Philip,  seeing  him  unshorn 
And  shabby.      "  Why,  Vulteius,  you  look  worn. 
You  work,  methinks,  too  long  upon  the  stretch." 
"  Oh,  that's  not  it,  my  patron.     Call  me  wretch ! 
That  is  the  only  fitting  name  for  me. 
Oh,  by  thy  Genius,  by  the  gods  that  be 
Thy  hearth's  protectors,  I  beseech,  implore. 
Give  me,  oh,  give  me  back  my  life  of  yore. " 

If  for  the  worse  you  find  you've  changed  your  place, 
Pause  not  to  think,  but  straight  your  steps  retrace. 
In  every  state  the  maxim  still  is  true. 
On  your  own  last  take  care  to  fit  your  shoe! 

Epist.  /,  7     Martin 


l\ 


**MeUri  se  quemque  suo  modulo  ac  pede,  verum  est.  ** 

So  true  it  is  that  every  one  should  adjust  himself  to  his  own 
capacity  and  condition. 

**Parvum  parva  decent.  ** 
Modest  ways  are  becoming  to  those  of  modest  means. 


140       Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 


ii 


THE  LEAN  FIELD  MOUSE 

Horace  is  willing    to  give  up   his   fatness,  rather   than   his 
freedom. 

Through  a  small  hole  a  field-mouse,  lank  and  thin, 
Had  squeezed  his  way  into  a  barley  bin. 
And,  having  fed  to  fatness  on  the  grain. 
Tried  to  get  out,  but  tried  and  squeezed  in  vain. 
"Friend,"  cried  a  weasel, loitering  thereabout, 
"  Lean  you  went  in,  and  lean  you  must  get  out." 
Now,  at  my  head  if  folks  this  story  throw, 
Whatever  1  have  I'm  ready  to  forego; 
I  am  not  one,  with  forced  meats  in  my  throat, 
Fine  saws  on  poor  men's  dreamless  sleep  to  quote. 
Unless  in  soul  as  very  air  I'm  free. 
Not  all  the  wealth  of  Araby  for  me. 

You've  ofttimes  praised  the  reverent,  yet  true 
Devotion,  which  my  heart  has  shown  for  you. 
King,  father,  I  have  called  you,  nor  been  slack 
In  words  of  gratitude  behind  your  back; 
But  even  your  bounties,  if  you  care  to  try. 
You'll  find  I  can  renounce  without  a  sigh. 
Not  badly  young  Telemachus  replied, 
Ulysses'  son,  that  man  so  sorely  tried : 
"  No  mettled  steeds  in  Ithaca  we  want ; 
The  ground  is  broken  there,  the  herbage  scant. 
Let  me,  Atrides,  then,  thy  gifts  decline. 
In  thy  hands  they  are  better  far  than  mine ! " 


Horace's  Stories 

Yes,  little  things  fit  little  folks.     In  Rome 
The  Great  I  never  feel  myself  at  home. 
Let  me  have  Tibur,  and  its  dreamful  ease, 
Or  soft  Tarentum's  nerve-relaxing  breeze. 

Epist.  /,  7 


Ml 


Martii 


m 


HORACE  AND  THE  BORE 

The  following  story  is  no  doubt  based  upon  a  personal 
experience.  It  is  certainly  the  most  humorous  thing  in  Horace 
or  in  all  Roman  literature.  The  Romans  were  not  much  given 
to  humour,  and  even  Horace's  jokes  and  stories  require  a  mel- 
low mood  for  full  appreciation ;  but  it  takes  no  excess  of  humor- 
ous sensibility  to  appreciate  "  The  Bore  ".  Macleane  thinks  it 
the  most  genial  and  characteristic  of  any  of  Horace's  writings. 
It  has  been  translated  by  Cowper ;  but  he  paraphrased  and 
spoiled  it.     Canon  Howes  seems  to  have  done  it  best. 

A  whole  book  has  been  written  upon  the  Sacra  Via.  It  was 
a  street  in  Rome,  about  a  mile  in  length,  running  from  the 
Capitol  to  the  Regia  Domus  and  Temple  of  Vesta,  full  of  the 
turns  natural  to  a  street  which  began,  in  the  earliest  days,  as  a 
simple  path  fitted  to  the  inequalities  of  the  ground  it  crossed ; 
and  was  later  diverted  by  buildings  on  or  near  it. 

Along  the  Sacred  Street  I  chanced  to  stray 
Musing  I  know  not  what,  as  is  my  way. 
And  wholly  wrapt  in  thought — when  up  there  came 
A  fellow  scarcely  known  to  me  by  name : 
Grasping  my  hand,  "  My  dear  friend,  how  d'ye  do? 
And  pray,"  he    cried,  "how    wags    the  world    with 


you 


:>'' 


"  I  thank  you,  passing  well,  as  times  go  now ; 
Your  servant : "  — And  with  that  I  made  my  bow. 
But  finding  him  still  dangle  at  my  sleeve 
Without  the  slightest  sign  of  taking  leave, 


i.iir'"~^ 


■WMPMWHMI.I  nil  "W» 


/^2        Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

I  turn  with  cold  civility  and  say — 

"  Anything  further,  Sir,  with  me  to-day  ? " 

— " Nay,  truce  with  this  reserve!  it  is  but  fit 

We  two  were  friends,  since  Tm  a  brother-wit. 

Here  some  dull  compliment  I  stammered  out, 

As,  "  That,  Sir,  recommends  you  much  no  doubt." 

Vexed  to  the  soul  and  dying  to  be  gone, 
1  slacken  now  my  pace,  now  hurry  on ; 
And  sometimes  halt  at  once  in  full  career. 
Whispering  some  trifle  in  my  lackey's  ear. 
But  when  he  still  stuck  by  me  as  before, — 
Sweating  with  inward  spleen  at  every  pore. 
Oh !  how  I  longed  to  let  my  passion  pass. 
And  sighed,  Bolanus,  for  thy  front  of  brass ! 

Meanwhile  he  keeps  up  one  incessant  chat 
About  the  streets,  the  houses  and  all  that : 
Marking  at  last  my  silence—"  Well,"  said  he, 
"  Tis  pretty  plain  you  re  anxious  to  get  free : 
But  patience,  darling  Sir !  so  lately  met — 
Odslif e !  I  cannot  think  of  parting  yet. 
Inform  me,  whither  are  your  footsteps  bound  ?  " 
"  To  see  (but  pray  don  t  let  me  drag  you  round) 
A  friend  of  mine,  who  lies  extremely  ill 
A  mile  beyond  the  bridge,  or  further  still." 
"  Nay  then,  come  on !  IVe  nothing  else  to  do ; 
And  as  to  distance,  what  is  that— with  you ! " 

On  hearing  this,  quite  driven  to  despair. 
Guess  what  my  looks  and  what  my  feelings  were ! 
Never  did  ass  upon  the  public  road. 
When  on  his  back  he  felt  a  double  load. 


m\ 


THE  VIA  SACRA  AND  ARCH  OF  TITUS 
AT  THE  PRESENT  TIME 


142        Horace:   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

I  turn  with  cold  civility  and  say — 

"  Anything  further,  Sir,  with  me  to-day  ?  " 

— "  Nay,  truce  with  this  reserve!  it  is  but  fit 

We  two  were  friends,  since  Vm  a  brother-wit." 

Here  some  dull  compliment  1  stammered  out. 

As,  "  That,  Sir,  recommends  you  much  no  doubt." 

Vexed  to  the  soul  and  dying  to  be  gone, 
I  slacken  now  my  pace,  now  hurry  on ; 
And  sometimes  halt  at  once  in  full  career, 
Whispering  some  trifle  in  my  lackey  s  ear. 
But  when  he  still  stuck  by  me  as  before, — 
Sweating  with  inward  spleen  at  every  pore. 
Oh !  how  I  longed  to  let  my  passion  pass. 
And  sighed,  Bolanus,  for  thy  front  of  brass ! 

Meanwhile  he  keeps  up  one  incessant  chat 
About  the  streets,  the  houses  and  all  that : 
Marking  at  last  my  silence—"  Well,"  said  he, 
"  Tis  pretty  plain  you  re  anxious  to  get  free : 
But  patience,  darling  Sir !  so  lately  met— 
Odslife !  I  cannot  think  of  parting  yet. 
Inform  me,  whither  are  your  footsteps  bound?" 
"  To  see  (but  pray  don  t  let  me  drag  you  round) 
A  friend  of  mine,  who  lies  extremely  ill 
A  mile  beyond  the  bridge,  or  further  still." 
"  Nay  then,  come  on !  I've  nothing  else  to  do ; 
And  as  to  distance,  what  is  that— with  you ! " 

On  hearing  this,  quite  driven  to  despair. 
Guess  what  my  looks  and  what  my  feelings  were ! 
Never  did  ass  upon  the  public  road, 
When  on  his  back  he  felt  a  double  load, 


THE  VIA  SACRA  AND  ARCH  OF  TITUS 
AT  THE  PRESENT  TIME 


i 


Horace's  Stories  143 

Hang  both  his  ears  so  dismal  and  so  blank. 
"  In  me,  Sir, "  he  continues,  "  to  be  frank. 
You  know  not  what  a  friend  you  have  in  store : 
Viscus  and  Varius  will  not  charm  you  more. 
For  as  to  dancing,  who  with  me  can  vie? 
Or  who  can  scribble  verse  so  fast  as  1  ? 
Again,  in  powers  of  voice  so  much  I  shine 
Hermogenes  himself  might  envy  mine. " 

Here  for  a  moment,  puffed  with  self-applause. 
He  stopped ;  I  took  advantage  of  the  pause : 
^  These  toils  will  shorten,  sure,  your  precious  life; 
Have  you  no  loving  mother,  friend,  or  wife ; 
Who  takes  an  interest  in  your  fate  ?  "  — "  Oh,  no ; 
Thank  heaven !  they're  all  disposed  of  long  ago. " 
"  Good  luck  (thought  I ),  by  thee  no  longer  vexed ! " 
So  I,  it  seems,  must  be  disposed  of  next : 
Well,  let  me  but  at  once  resign  my  breath ; 
To  die  by  inches  thus  were  worse  than  death. 
Now,  now  I  see  the  doom  approaching  near. 
Which  once  was  told  me  by  a  gossip  seer : 
While  yet  a  boy,  the  wrinkled  beldam  shook 
Her  urn,  and,  eyeing  me  with  piteous  look, 
"  Poor  lad !  "  she  cried,  "  no  mischief  shalt  thou  feel 
Or  from  the  poisoned  bowl  or  hostile  steel; 
Nor  pricking  pleurisy,  nor  hectic  cough. 
Nor  slow-consuming  gout  shall  take  thee  off: 
'Tis  thy  sad  lot,  when  grown  to  man*s  estate. 
To  fall  the  victim  of  a  puppys  prate : 
Go,  treasure  in  thy  mind  the  truths  Tve  sung. 
And  shun,  if  thou  art  wise,  a  chattering  tongue." 


! 


144        Horace:  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

At  Vesta's  temple  we  arrived  at  last ; 
And  now  one  quarter  of  the  day  was  past — 
When  by  the  greatest  luck  he  had,  1  found, 
To  stand  a  suit,  and  by  the  law  was  bound 
Either  to  answer  to  the  charges  brought. 
Or  else  to  suffer  judgment  by  default. 
"  Tm  sorry  to  detain  you  here, "  he  cried ; 
"  But  1  might  ask  you  just  to  step  aside  ?  " 
"  You  must  excuse  me ;  legs  so  cramped  with  gout 
As  mine,  i  fear,  could  never  stand  it  out : 
Then,  may  I  perish  if  Y\e  skill  or  taste 
For  law;  besides,  you  know  1  am  in  haste."  — 
"  Faith,  now  you  make  me  doubtful  what  to  do ; 
Whether  to  sacrifice  my  cause  or  you. " 
"  Me,  by  all  means.  Sir! — me,  I  beg  and  pray." 
"  Not  for  the  world,"  cried  he,  and  led  the  way. 
Convinced  all  further  struggle  was  but  vain, 
I  follow  like  a  captive  in  his  train. 

"  Well  "—he  begins  afresh — "  how  stand  you.  Sir. 
In  the  good  graces  of  our  Minister?  " — 
"  His  favourites  are  but  few,  and  those  select : 
Never  was  one  more  nice  and  circumspect. 
"  Enough — In  all  such  cases  I'm  the  man 
To  work  my  way !     In  short,  to  crown  your  plan. 
You  need  some  second,  master  of  his  art. 
To  act,  d*ye  see,  a  sort  of  under-part. 
Now  what  is  easier?-  Do  but  recommend 
Your  humble  servant  to  this  noble  friend ; 
And,  take  my  word,  the  coast  we  soon  should  clear. 
And  you  erelong  monopolize  his  ear.   — 


Horace's  Stories  145 

"  Tush !  matters  go  not  there  as  you  suppose ; 

No  roof  is  purer  from  intrigues  like  those : 

Think  not,  if  such,  and  such  surpass  myself 

In  wealth  of  wit,  Tm  laid  upon  the  shelf : 

Each  has  his  place  assigned." — "  Why,  this  is  new 

And  passing  strange!  "  — "  Yet  not  more  strange  than 

true. "  — 
"  Gods !     how  you  whet  my  wishes !  well,  I  vow, 
I  long  to  know  him  more  than  ever  now." — 
— "  Assail  him  then;  the  will  is  all  you  need; 
With  prowess  such  as  yours,  you  must  succeed : 
He's  not  impregnable ;   but  (what  is  worst) 
He  knows  it,  and  is  therefore  shy  at  first." 
"  If  that's  his  humour,  trust  me,  I  shall  spare 
No  kind  of  pains  to  win  admittance  there : 
I'll  bribe  his  porter;  if  denied  to-day, 
I'll  not  desist,  but  try  some  other  way : 
I'll  watch  occasions — linger  in  his  suite. 
Waylay,  salute,  huzzah  him  through  the  street. 
Nothing  of  consequence  beneath  the  sun 
Without  great  labour  ever  yet  was  done." 

Thus  he  procc  >ded  prattling  without  end. 
When — who  should  meet  us  but  my  worthy  friend, 
Aristius  Fuscus,  one  who  knew  the  fop 
And  ail  his  humours :  up  he  comes — we  stop. 
"Whence  now,  good  Sir,  and  whither  bound?"      he 

cries. 
And  to  like  questions,  put  in  turn,  replies. 
In  hopes  he'd  take  the  hint  and  draw  me  off, 
I  twitch  his  listless  sleeve — nod — wink — and  cough. 


M6       Horace:   Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus 

He,  feigning  ignorance  what  my  signals  mean, 
With  cruel  waggery  smiles: — 1  burn  with  spleen. 

"Fuscus"  (said  I),  "you  mentioned  t'other  day 
Something  particular  you  wished  to  say 
Betwixt  ourselves."  — "Perhaps  I  might:  'tis  true: 
But  never  mind ;  some  other  time  will  do : 
This  is  the  Jews'  grand  feast ;   and  I  suspect 
You'd  hardly  like  to  spurn  that  holy  sect. "  — 
"  Nay,  for  such  scruples,  'troth  i  feel  not  any."  — 
"  Well,  but  1  do,  and,  like  the  vulgar  many, 
Am  rather  tender  in  such  points  as  these : 
So  by  and  bye  of  that.  Sir,  if  you  please."  — 
Ah  me !  that  e'er  so  dark  a  sun  should  rise ! 
Away  the  pitiless  barbarian  flies. 
And  leaves  me  baffled,  half  bereft  of  life, 
All  at  the  mercy  of  the  ruthless  knife. 

With  hue  and  cry  the  plaintiff  comes  at  last ; 
"  Soho  there,  sirrah !  whither  now  so  fast  ?  " 
"Sir" — he    addressed     me — "You'll    bear    witness 

here?" 
"  Aye,  that  1  will, "  quoth  I,  and  turned  my  ear. 
Anon  he's  dragged  to  court;  on  either  side 
Loud  shouts  ensue,  and  uproar  lords  it  wide : 
While  1,  amid  the  hurly-burly  riot. 
Thanks  to  Apollo's  care !  walk  off  in  quiet. 

SaL  /,  9     Howes 


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146       Horace:   Quinius  Horatius  Ftaccus 

He,  feigning  ignorance  what  my  signals  mean, 
With  cruel  waggery  smiles:  —  I  burn  with  spleen. 

"  Fuscus "  (said  1 ),  "  you  mentioned  t'other  day 
Something  particular  you  wished  to  say 
Betwixt  ourselves."  — "Perhaps  1  might:  'tis  true: 
But  never  mind ;  some  other  time  will  do : 
This  is  the  Jews'  grand  feast ;   and  I  suspect 
You  d  hardly  like  to  spurn  that  holy  sect. "  — 
"  Nay,  for  such  scruples,  'troth  I  feel  not  any."  — 
"  Well,  but  1  do,  and,  like  the  vulgar  many, 
Am  rather  tender  in  such  points  as  these : 
So  by  and  bye  of  that,  Sir,  if  you  please."  — 
Ah  me !  that  e'er  so  dark  a  sun  should  rise ! 
Away  the  pitiless  barbarian  flies, 
And  leaves  me  baffled,  half  bereft  of  life, 
All  at  the  mercy  of  the  ruthless  knife. 

With  hue  and  cry  the  plaintiff  comes  at  last ; 
"Soho  there,  sirrah!  whither  now  so  fast?" 
"Sir" — he    addressed     me— "You'll    bear    witness 

here?" 
"Aye,  that  1  will,"  quoth  I,  and  turned  my  ear. 
Anon  he's  dragged  to  court ;  on  either  side 
Loud  shouts  ensue,  and  uproar  lords  it  wide : 
While  I,  amid  the  hurly-burly  riot. 
Thanks  to  Apollo's  care !  walk  off  in  quiet. 

Sal.  L  9     Howes 


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//. 


orace  s  atones 


Stc 


147 


THE  STAG  AND  THE  HORSE 

Horace  can  not  cease  from  moralizing  on  the  wisdom  of 
being  contented  with  one's  own  lot,  or  from  praising  the  liberty 
of  poverty. 

Once  upon  a  time  a  stag,  at  antlers'  point, 
Expelled  a  horse  h*d  worsted,  from  the  joint 
Enjoyment  of  the  pasture  both  had  cropped: 
Still,  when  he  ventured  near  it  rudely  stopped, 
The  steed  called  in  man's  aid,  and  took  the  bit: 
Thus  backed,  he  charged  the  stag,  and  conquered  it. 
But  woe  the  while!  nor  rider,  bit,  nor  rein 
Could  he  shake  off,  and  be  himself  again. 
So  he,  who,  fearing  poverty,  hath  sold 
His  freedom,  better  than  uncounted  gold, 
Will  bear  a  master  and  a  master's  laws, 
And  be  a  slave  unto  the  end,  because 
He  v^ll  not  learn,  what  fits  him  most  to  know, 
How  far,  discreetly  used,  small  means  wall  go. 

EpisL  I,  1 0     Martin 


^"X 


*'Serviet  aeternum,  quia  parvo  nesciet  uti. " 

He  will  be  a  slave  forever,  because  he  does  not  know  how 
to  make  good  use  of  a  small  store. 


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